Remember Me Like I Was
by IceCreamPlease
Summary: Corenn has never been strong. After the reaping, she knows she's dead. The arena will be full of skilled opponents, and Corenn has never touched a weapon. But she can deal with that. In America's First Annual Hunger Games, dying may be the easiest way out. *2nd place in Energize W.I.P. Awards*
1. Chapter 1: Chosen

**Author's Note: This story takes place in modern day America, so there is no Panem. These are all original characters, but you might see a few similarities to some of the beloved HG characters. For these Games, the 50 American states send in tributes. I have re-imagined some of the rules and procedures so that the Games could feasibly take place in our time. One major change is the age of the tributes. I'm just too soft-hearted to write about killing kids so I raised the age requirement. Everything should be explained in the story, but if anything is unclear please let me know so I can fix it! Happy reading, and may the odds be ever in your favor!**

**Update: This story has been nominated for an Energize W.I.P. Award! Thanks so much to everyone who reads, reviews, votes, follows, etc!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games :(**

**Chapter 1: Chosen**

As I walk to the mailbox my heart hammers, but I already know what's coming. I've been feeling the dread settling on me for months. I knew something bad was going to happen, but I didn't know what. Now, I know it will be this. I grab the mailbox handle but let go, clenching my fists. There will be two letters there. One for my husband, Thomas, and one for me. I dance from foot to foot in the driveway, coaching myself through the moment. _Come on, Corenn shake it off. It's just your imagination running away with you. It's nothing, it's nothing, it's nothing._

I open the box. There are two small envelopes there. Both are identical and non threatening. I try to be relieved. Surely one would look different if it contained bad news. But I can't shake my anxiety. I take the envelopes out. Mine is on top. My hands are shaking so badly, it takes me three tries to open the letter. There is a single sheet of white paper inside.

_Mrs. Alexander,_

_Your presence will be required at your state capital's courthouse on September 9th at 10:00 AM. You have been selected as a state finalist in the reaping of the United States of America's first annual Hunger Games. You, among fifty other women from your state between the ages of 20 and 30, have been randomly selected for this honor. The final name, as well as that of the male participant, will be drawn on live television at the designated hour. If you are not present for this reaping, your name, as well as that of your closest relative, will automatically be selected. There will be no air, land, or sea vehicle allowed outside of the US prior to the aforementioned date. Thank you for your cooperation and understanding in this matter. Congratulations, and good luck._

_Sincerely,_

_President Verilius Alanton_

I am shaking so hard that I drop Thomas's letter. Somehow I keep hold of mine. Maybe the sweat on my palms made it stick to me. I sink to my knees. I know Thomas is watching me from the house. He is tending our son, Kade, while I check the mail. He will know now, that one of the letters contains bad news. I quickly retrieve Thomas's letter and nearly shred it in my haste to open it.

_Mr. Alexander,_

_Your name has unfortunately not been drawn for the honor of representing your state in the United States of America's first annual Hunger Games._

I stop reading. I don't care what the rest says. Thomas is safe. At least that is some relief. The wind takes one of the crumpled envelopes into the street, and I make no effort to stand. I don't cry. I'm much too numb for that. I try to tell myself that it's not really so bad. There's still a chance that it won't be my name that gets drawn. There are 49 other women in Mississippi who got a letter just like mine. I know it will be me, though. Somehow I know it. I've known it since the night the government was overrun by Verilius Alanton and his army of traitors. I've known it since his devilish face started appearing on television every night informing us of new changes to our way of life. I've known since two weeks ago when he announced the Hunger Games.

He insists that it will be a spectacle with great fanfare to raise the morale of each state, and to unite them with a common goal - to win the Games. But we all know what it really is. It's just another way for him to show us that we don't have any power. He can kill us. He can make us kill each other. And he can make everyone else watch. It will be the only thing televised for the duration of the games, and every home will be given a monitor to make sure that their tv is on. If it's not on at every hour of the day, then all members of the household will be subject to arrest. The new government is even giving away televisions to families who don't have one. Alanton has been building a giant death trap for the unfortunate man and woman selected from each state. The rumor is that it's somewhere in Kansas. 100 representatives will go in, and only one will come out.

I feel a sticky little hand touch the back of my neck. I turn and Kade smiles at me. Thomas is there too. He is not smiling. His face is white as a sheet. I can see the unspoken question in his eyes. _Which one of us?_

I hand him my letter. He reads through it quickly. I give him his letter, and he takes it mechanically. He glances at it, and to his credit, he does not look a bit relieved. He kneels down beside me and takes Kade and I into his arms. He tells me that it won't be me, that someone else will get picked. That my name is only one of fifty. That I've never won a drawing in my life, and I surely won't win this one. I am not listening. I'm holding my son as if my life depended on it. His brown eyes, a mirror of mine, stare up at me. He knows something is wrong, so I try to smile. He hugs me and I let myself cry.

September 9th is in one week.


	2. Chapter 2: Reaping

**Thanks for making it all the way to Chapter 2! **

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games. Poor me :(**

Chapter 2: Reaping

For the next week, not a word concerning the reaping is spoken in my house. There seems to be an unspoken agreement between myself and Thomas that everything will be fine, and if it isn't, then we'll talk about it then. My parents come over every day. It's as if they want to spend every second with me to make up for the years they will lose if I'm selected to go into the arena. I try to handle it with grace. But I'm sure I fail. I catch the lingering looks on my mom's face when she thinks I'm not watching. I notice my dad sniffling more often than usual. But no one talks about what could happen. No one can stand it.

President Alanton comes on tv every night. He tries to build up some excitement for the upcoming reapings. They will begin Friday morning and coverage will continue until Sunday evening. Mississippi's reaping will be the third to take place on Saturday. It seems that some places actually are excited about the games. Or, at least, they fake it well. On Friday, everything will be closed so we can all sit at home and watch the poor souls who will be chosen to die.

Friday morning, Thomas and I sit and try to ignore the television. Kade asks us why the ladies are crying and why some man fainted. We explain the best way we can without scaring him. The reaping in Kentucky is a particularly shocking one, according to the commentators. Apparently, the male representative is a famous swimmer. He's on track to make the Olympic team, they say. Thomas has heard the name, but the guy doesn't look familiar to me. He is blond and blue eyed, very likely handsome in better times. Today his hair is messy and his eyes are rimmed in red. His tall, muscular body is bent as if he is in pain. A tall, blond woman who could only be his mother, is shown weeping uncontrollably. Some men in uniforms take her by her arms and carry her away. It doesn't look like she even notices. The commentators explain that after a representative is chosen, the family of that person is taken into custody. It is insurance that they will fight once they enter the arena. The families will be cared for in luxury as long as the representative is cooperative.

At this point I have to go in another room for a while so Kade doesn't see me falling apart. I have wondered how Alanton would force everyone to fight. Threatening to kill a person's family is a good way to do it. I would do anything to protect my son. I sit on my bed and stare at the wall for a long time. I pull my knees to my chest and rock, hoping to calm myself. There is still a good chance that I won't be selected. _Kade will be safe. So will Thomas and Mom and Dad._ I think it over and over, but I still don't believe it.

On Saturday, we wake early. I'm surprised that I slept at all. I dress in a blue tank top and jeans. I can't make myself care enough to check how it looks in the mirror. In the car, I watch Thomas as he drives. He has dark circles under his eyes and bites his lip constantly. I know that this may be my last chance to tell him good bye, but I can't find the words. I hold his hand in a vice grip and he grips me just as tightly. As we turn into the parking lot of the courthouse, I can't stand it anymore.

"I love you both!" I blurt and sling my arms around him. "If this is good bye, then tell Kade-"

Thomas puts his finger over my lips and shushes me. "This isn't good bye! This will all be over soon, and we'll go back home and celebrate."

He sounds so sure that I almost believe him.

Almost.

There is a check-in station set up in the lobby. They tell me that I have to go sit in a special section for "guests of honor." Mom and Dad arrived before us, and I can tell they are trying very hard to keep from crying. I hug them both and see that my mom looks pale and haggard. She probably hasn't slept in days. I hug Kade and Thomas, and tell them that I love them over and over until a woman in a uniform pulls me away. I don't speak to her, and she keeps politely silent as well, though she doesn't let go of my arm. She leads me outside, where I see cameras and spectators everywhere. I guess that people are starting to get into the drama of these reapings, since their families are safe. I look to my right and see what must be the family section. The people there don't look happy. Some look like they might throw up, and some are openly weeping. On my left are two sections of chairs divided in the middle by an aisle. On one side sits a handful of solemn men, and on the other, a group of women. _These must be the honored guests_, I think. The uniformed woman leads me to a chair beside a chubby red headed girl who can't be more than 21. She is staring straight ahead with tears streaming down her face. I sit beside her, and neither of us speaks.

The chairs around me get full, and I notice the men's side is quickly filling as well. I bounce my foot up and down just for something to do. Other than thinking, of course. I refuse to think about this, and I refuse to go to pieces on national television. I notice the sky is clouding up, and I vaguely hope that they might cancel this whole thing. I nearly laugh at my idiocy. If they cancel it then we will just have to do it over again. I couldn't stand that. There are spectators lined up farther than my eye can see. The girl next to me grabs my hand, but she still doesn't look at me. I glance toward the platform erected in front of the rows of chairs. A man in dress pants and a green collared shirt is walking to the microphone.

"Good morning, Mississippi, and good morning America!" He grins into the cameras nearest him. "Welcome to the Mississippi reaping for the first annual Hunger Games of the United States of America!"

He claps, and someone on either side of the stage holds up a sign that says "applause." Many of the spectators clap raucously. A few scattered claps come from the men and women around me. I don't move. Neither does the girl who holds my hand.

"Today, we select two brave representatives," the man continues, "To participate on behalf of the great state of Mississippi!"

The audience applauds again. I still don't move. The man says his name is Arthur Andrews. He drones on about what a pleasure it is to be here, and how honored we should feel if we are chosen. I am not listening. I watch the dark clouds collect above us, and I hear the soft roll of thunder in the distance.

Arthur goes on for so long that I think I would be asleep if not for the direness of the situation. The thunder gets louder, and I find myself faintly amused when it begins interrupting him. He continues on, though I can tell he is annoyed. The wind begins to blow, cooling the sweat that beads all over my body.

After what feels like an eternity, Arthur announces that the moment has arrived. It is time to draw the name of Mississippi's first ever female participant in the Hunger Games. He says it as if the crowd should be excited. I hear whoops and cheering from the spectators and my heart sinks. They ARE excited_. _

Arthur walks to a large golden bowl on one side of the stage. I can't see what is inside, but I'm sure there is something in there with my name on it. The red-headed girl mutters "please not me, please not me" again and again. She still holds my hand. The woman on my other side grips her chair so hard I think her bones will pop out of her fingers. I can't do anything. I can't even breathe.

Arthur swishes his hand over the bowl and dips it in with a flourish. He comes out with a small piece of silver paper. He heads to the microphone. I want to scream. I want to run. But there is no escape.

He grins.

"Congratulations to Corenn Alexander!" He claps. A lot of other people do, too. Every one around me exhales loudly. The red head dissolves into a fit of relieved hysteria. She lets go of my hand and I let it fall limply to my lap. I knew this was coming.

_So why am I still surprised?_

Arthur is saying my name again, and I know I must do something. I grab the chair in front of me and pull myself to my feet. My body seems ten times heavier than usual.

"There she is!" Arthur announces. Every head turns to me. "Come on up!"

Somehow, I go. I move clumsily, but none of the girls on my row complain as I step on their feet. When I reach the aisle, I take a deep breath. I refuse to look beaten. My son is watching, and I want him to remember me this way. I hold my head high and walk determinedly to the stage. As I walk, the thunder booms again. Everyone jumps at the sudden noise. Everyone but me. I climb the stage's steps and walk up to Arthur's outstretched hand. I don't take it. I face the audience in silence. Arthur awkwardly lets his hand drop.

"Well..." He clears his throat. "How old are you, Miss Alexander?" He pushes the microphone into my face.

"28," I say.

"28!" He repeats. The audience applauds. I wonder why living that long is worthy of praise. I remember that I probably won't live to be 29, and I push the thought away.

Arthur asks me to tell a little about myself. I say that I am married, and that I have two wonderful parents, and a beautiful 2 year old son. I feel like I'm writing my own obituary.

"A son?" Arthur asks. "Is he here in the audience today?"

I nod. It appears that he expects me to point Kade out to the crowd. I don't.

Arthur sighs. He seems aggravated that I'm not humoring him.

"Well, your son should be very proud to have a Hunger Games participant for his mother," he says. He opens his mouth to go on, but at that moment it begins to rain. The downpour soaks me instantly, but I remain in my position. Some of the spectators raise umbrellas, but no one leaves. Someone brings Arthur an umbrella and he seems torn about whether it would be polite to hold it over me as well. I decide for him by stepping to the back of the stage. I stand and stare forward, trying to appear resolute. Arthur announces the drawing for the male representative and walks to another golden bowl. I spot Kade and Thomas in the crowd and I feel my eyes cloud with tears. I see a uniformed man come to them and they walk together to the courthouse. Kade waves to me. I can't muster a smile. Another man gets my mom and dad. Dad very nearly has to carry Mom out. I feel tears running down my face, but the rain keeps them hidden.

"Charles Midden!" Arthur announces. After a long pause, a tall, chubby guy with glasses stands. He makes his way to the aisle and walks with his eyes on the ground. When he reaches the stage, he says even less than I did. Arthur manages to discern that Charles is 23 years old and his mother is here. Arthur begins an eloquent closing speech and Charles is sent to stand by me. I turn to look at him, but he never takes his eyes from the floor. I use every ounce of energy to keep myself looking composed. When Arthur is finally done, the audience claps once more. Uniformed people swarm Charles and I. We are ushered to separate vehicles. I am pushed into the backseat of a simple black car. A man in denim overalls is already there. His eyebrows are bushy, and so are the tufts of white hair that escape from under his cap. He looks at me kindly.

"I'm Elias," He says. "Your coach."


	3. Chapter 3: Elias

**Thanks so much for reading!**

**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games isn't mine :(**

Chapter 3: Elias

I can do nothing but stare at this man who is supposed to teach me how to stay alive. He has a big potbelly, and his overalls look dirty. He has some scruffy gray stubble on his face, as if he had forgotten to shave this morning. He smells like chewing tobacco and his teeth are yellow. His eyes are the only thing about him that reassures me. They are blue, and I can see intelligence and clarity in the way he looks at me. I'm not too concerned about his teaching abilities. I know I have no hope of staying alive, no matter what knowledge he may give me.

"I'm Corenn," I say through chattering teeth. I realize I must be cold, and I am sopping wet. I'm too numb to care.

Elias tells the driver to turn the heater on. He pats my shoulder awkwardly.

"Well, Corenn," He says in a deep southern drawl, "I'm goin to do everything I can to help ya."

He seems to really mean it. I want to tell him that there is nothing he can do to help me. That he might as well go coach someone who has a chance at winning. But I only hug myself and burrow down into my seat. I hope it swallows me up and I never have to come out again. The heat does nothing to quell the chill in my bones. Elias scrubs the scruff on his face. He is obviously searching for something else to say. I want him to know that it isn't his fault that this happened. When I die, I hope he doesn't think it's because he didn't teach me enough. I just wasn't made for this kind of thing. I don't know how to put any of that into words. So I settle for the nicest thing I can think of.

"You can call me Renn," I tell him. "It's what my friends call me."

Elias smiles broadly, exposing all of his yellow teeth. "Renn," he says. It sounds odd in his heavy accent. "I like that." He settles back in his seat and stares out the window at the rain.

I assume the conversation is over, which is a relief for me. I close my eyes and think about my family. I hope they're safe. I think about stupid things. I should've washed the dishes before I left this morning. I should have put a banana in Kade's bag for him to snack on. I should have had more kids. Thomas always wanted a big family. I stop myself. I know I'm going to start moping, and then I'll start crying again. If I fall apart now, I'll never pick up all the pieces again. _Everyone dies,_ I tell myself. _I'm just doing it sooner rather than later._

Elias turns to me and says gruffly, "They'll take care of your little one. I made good n' sure that no harm would come to anybody. You don't worry none about that."

I'm shocked by his kindness. I touch his arm. I can't tell him how grateful I am for this. Even if it isn't true. "Thank you," I muster.

Elias coughs. "It wasn't nothing, really. Just a few phone calls and such. I got some connections."

I nod. "So does that mean the other families aren't safe?" I ask. "The other representatives' families, I mean."

"Oh, no," Elias shakes his head quickly. "I don't mean to be sayin that. I think them other folks are gonna be tended to just fine. I just wasn't takin no chances."

I stare at my knees. I'm starting to get warm now, so I know Elias must be smothering. He says nothing about lowering the heat. I hope that someday he gets a representative who will win. He deserves it.

We drive for a long time. At certain intervals the car is parked and I'm allowed to get out. Another car is escorting us, and guards always surround me as soon as the car stops. Elias tells them that he will tend to me, but they never go far away. Elias has to keep one hand on my arm as we walk, and he has to stand outside the bathroom door to wait for me. He apologizes often, but I don't care what they have to do. I'm not going to run. It would put my family in danger.

I doze in the car, though not for more than five minutes at a time. It gets dark outside, and then light again. I refuse to eat, but Elias buys meals for me anyway. In case I get hungry later, he says. I don't know how much time passes before Elias starts talking. He tells me that I'm going to be "gussied up" when we arrive wherever we're going. He doesn't even know exactly where the place is. He says there has been a huge community built to house the representatives and a separate one to house their families. We won't be allowed to see our families at all, but he thought I'd like to know that they were close. He tells me that tomorrow night I will have to be paraded around like a homecoming queen to be introduced to the world. I get more and more nauseated as he speaks. I don't know how I am going to get through this. Elias seems to understand.

"I know this is a lot to be takin in," He says, "But I'd rather you be goin into this prepared. They's gonna be plenty of surprises waitin for ya in the arena so I'd rather ya know what's comin with all these darn publicity stunts."

I nod quickly. "Yes," I say, "I want to know."

He tells me I will have a live interview. He tells me I will train for five days on weapons and survival skills. He says I will have a stylist to dress me. He says I will not be allowed to speak to any representative other than Charles, who I will share living quarters with. He says I will have a private session with a set of judges to rate my abilities. I try to concentrate, but I spend most of the remaining time in the car swallowing bile. Elias must notice, because he stops offering me food. He keeps talking and advising, and I keep nodding.


	4. Chapter 4: Inside

**Chapter 4: Inside**

Eventually, we pull up to a heavily guarded gate. Elias gets out and talks with the guards while I impatiently wait. I try to see something past the gate, but it is obvious that great care went into hiding what's inside. To my left and right I see only high walls decorated with bright green foliage. Elias gets back in the car and hands me a lanyard with a card hanging on it.

"That's your security pass," He says. "I dunno how they think somebody would go about sneakin in this place, but we all gotta wear these for identification." He hands the driver one as well.

I look at my card. It has an American flag on one side and Mississippi's flag on the other. Both sides say "Representative 47, female" in bold lettering. I look at Elias's card. His has the same flags, but it says "Elias Carmichael, Coach."

"They couldn't be bothered to put my name on it?" I ask.

Elias seems confused and then looks at my card. "What? Oh, no, it ain't that. It's just that they printed these cards up before you all got picked." He looks at me, with his face more serious than I've seen before. "Don't you worry, hun. I've got a hunch that everybody's gonna know your name before long."

I want to ask him what he means, but at that moment the gates start creeping open. I crane my neck to try and get a look inside. Elias laughs.

"I've only been allowed in once," he says, "But I reckon it's the most amazin thing I've ever laid eyes on."

The space between the gates reveals a blindingly white building. It's not large, maybe a couple of stories tall, but it is beautiful. I don't know what material the building is made out of, but it almost glows. The windows are reflective, and I have to shut my eyes as they dazzle in the morning sunlight. The building is either carved or painted - I can't tell which - with flowers and trees and animals. There is a single set of double doors that are painted a lovely ice blue. A pole in front of the building bears a flag I don't recognize.

When the gate is completely open, I can see that there are more buildings on either side of the white one. The one on the left is a light green and has a different set of animals decorating it. The one on the right is a soft orange color with a yellow door. This is not what I expected at all.

"You could catch flies with that mouth," Elias grins and claps me on the back. "Roll the windows down, Henry, let her enjoy it."

I quickly close my mouth as the driver obliges. I hesitate for a moment, but soon I'm on my knees in the seat with half my body leaning out the window.

"What IS this Elias?" I ask in awe.

He chuckles. "It's the representatives quarters. That one there," he points to the white one, "is for the Alaska folks. Ya see, each one is made to fit it's state. That orange one is for Florida."

As we drive through the gate and turn, I see buildings in both directions. Every one is a different color. I notice that each one has a different landscape to showcase the state it represents. We pass a brownish red building with a cactus planted in front, and a lovely blue one with a fountain like a waterfall on the side of a mountain. We drive slowly, and I openly gape at everything. Once I get used to the beauty of the small buildings, I notice that behind them are massive structures. They look less artistic, but they are no less shocking. Elias tells me that some of those buildings will be where the stylists work on us, and one giant one is the training center. He points out a huge auditorium where interviews will be. The biggest one of all is for the introductory and closing ceremonies. Elias says that on the far side of the community, there are equally amazing buildings for the families of each representative. I won't be allowed to go there, of course.

My enthusiasm for the scenery fades, and I slump back into the seat. I still watch every building we pass. I see a metallic one with a replica of the Statue of Liberty out front. I scoff and shake my head. It's just a symbol of freedom set here to mock us.

"Poor New York," I say, assuming the building is for their representatives.

Elias says nothing, but I can tell he understands.

We wind slowly past building after gorgeous building. The car begins to slow and I see a dark green building up ahead. I know instantly that it is mine. The color is exactly like the evergreen trees that cover my backyard at home. All over the expanse of green are large foxes and deer painted in luscious colors. They seem to be wandering amid giant magnolia flowers. The yard contains four massive magnolia trees and a few smaller pines. I see the Mississippi flag blowing in the wind and I nearly cry. It's just another reminder of a home I'll never see again.


	5. Chapter 5: Promise

**Chapter 5: Promise**

When the car stops in front of the green house, Elias gets out without hesitation. I stay put, thinking the myriad of guards would have to escort me. Elias is halfway to the door before he notices I'm not following. He turns and motions for me to come with him. I do, but I look around, afraid I might be pounced on by uniformed men.

Elias hoots a laugh. "There ain't no guards gonna get ya now." His laugh fades. "They don't have to. These walls are as much for keepin ya in as they are for keepin other folks out."

I look at the high wall across the street. It looks like I could climb it, but I'm sure there is some other security measure to prevent that. It doesn't matter. As long as Kade may be in danger, I will do whatever I'm told. I follow Elias to the dark brown door. It looks and feels like it is made of tree bark. Elias opens it and ushers me inside.

The carpet of the entryway is the same green as the building. The walls are a light blue painted with colorful flowers. There are potted plants sitting everywhere. There is a small fountain in the center of the room. It is shaped like a magnolia flower, with water flowing from its center. I see fish swimming in the fountain bowl.

"It's like spring," I say in wonder, "It's a Mississippi spring."

Elias nods and smiles. He takes my arm and guides me through the rest of the house. The bottom floor, excluding the entryway is themed for a Mississippi winter. The wooden furniture seems to be painted with frost, and the walls are a bluish gray. Potted evergreens stand in each of the large rooms. There is a kitchen, a dining room, and a den area with a huge television. My entire house could fit on this floor with room to spare. The second floor, Elias tells me, is for one of the representatives and his or her coach. It is full of sunny colors, and many small fountains sit in various locations. There are two large bedrooms with equally sizable bathrooms. A giant room, bare except for mirrors along one wall, fills the center section of the floor.

"What's this for?" I ask Elias.

"It's for your one-on-one sessions with your coach" He replies. "In the afternoons, we're supposed to work with ya on different skills. Maybe hone any abilities you don't want the rest of the pack to see."

I look at Elias pointedly. "I don't have any abilities."

"Well, we'll see about that," He turns and heads to the stairs. "Do ya like this floor for yourself or do ya wanna see what's up top?"

I head quickly for the stairs. The third floor makes me breathe a sigh of relief. I know it will be themed for autumn, but I don't think a coat of paint and some plants will capture the beauty of a Mississippi November. I am wrong.

"It's perfect," I say.

The walls are a perfect mix of orange and brown. The carpet is scattered with reds and oranges and violets like leaves littering the ground. I can smell apples and cinnamon, though I don't know where it comes from. The plants seem frozen in their autumn loveliness, and the simple birch furniture complements the decor. I go into the first bedroom I come to and flop down on the bed.

Elias follows me and leans against the door frame with a smile. "Looks like we're home," he says.

In the closet I find varying outfits, all with dark green as the dominant color. Elias tells me that each state is assigned a color and the representatives must always wear it. I sigh. I guess there are worse colors, though. I look out the windows of my room. One looks out at a gigantic parking garage, while the other looks toward the building next door. It is another state's housing. The building is a glittering gray and has elegant horses decorating the outside. I see a stately tree surrounded by an odd looking grass in the front.

My bathroom has a large garden tub and huge mirrors. The sinks are shaped like falling leaves. I always wanted to decorate my house in a unique way, but I never got around to it. I think about Thomas and Kade going back home without me. I never hung Kade's baby pictures on the wall. I never bought any pretty curtains. I was always going to do it later. Maybe when Kade was older, or when we had more money. Now I know I will never do it. The pang of sadness that hits sends me staggering. I clutch the bathroom counter and try to clear my head of all thoughts of my family. Elias rushes to my side.

"You all right, hon?" He grabs my arm. "You need to lie down? I knew you shoulda ate somethin."

I wave him away. "No, no. I'm fine."

But I am not fine. I stare into the mirror in front of me and I see a pale face. I see dark circles that have never been there before. I look defeated. I AM defeated. The excitement of seeing the new sights has faded, and now I must cope with what is to come. In eight days, I will probably die. I can't see myself living much past the first day. I'll be surprised if I make it past the first few minutes. My family will watch me die. My mom, who always cries when I cry. My dad, who kissed my hurts and made them better. My husband, who married a beautiful bride and promised "Till death do us part". My son, who will have no memory of me. They will all watch. I can't bear it.

"Will you see my family?" I still stare at my reflection, but I know Elias is listening. "You know, before I'm dead. Will you see them?"

I turn to look at him. His face is almost as drawn with dread as mine.

He swallows hard. "I'll be watchin the game with them once it starts..." he says reluctantly. "But don't you go givin up now-"

I hold up a hand to cut him off. "I know you don't know me, and I know you hope I have some kind of potential," I say. Elias tries to speak again, but I continue, "We both know that there is no chance that I can win. So...please promise me something?"

I can tell he wants to argue, but he knows I'm right. He nods.

"When the time comes..." I trail off as I fight back tears. "When I'm dying," I grab Elias's hand and grip it tightly, "don't let them watch."

Elias looks down and shuffles his feet. He wipes his nose and sniffs. When he looks up I can see the emotion on his face.

"I promise," he says, and quickly leaves the room.


	6. Chapter 6: Dinner

**Chapter 6: Dinner**

I sit alone on my bed for a long time after that. I hear some shuffling on the stairs and I figure Charles has arrived. I wonder if he is angry that he got stuck with the flowery summer bedroom. I doubt it. By the looks of him at the reaping, he probably hasn't noticed any of his surroundings. I consider going to talk to him, but I decide against it. He probably doesn't want any company. Neither do I. The sun is beginning to set when Elias knocks on my door.

"Come in," I say. My voice sounds hollow.

He enters and I can't help but smile. He is dressed in a dark green shirt with a collar and buttons down the front. His pants are a casual khaki, but they look much too formal on him. It looks like he tried to tame his thinning hair, but the white tufts are still sticking out in every direction. He looks extremely uncomfortable.

"Well," he clears his throat and pulls at his waistband. "Them security men will be comin around soon, so you're gonna have to get dressed in them green clothes." He points at the closet.

I smile at him. "You clean up nice, Elias."

He grins. "Well, thank ya kindly." He dips into an awkward bow and I giggle. It sounds forced, but it comes out nonetheless.

"What should I wear?" I ask.

Elias opens the closet and sifts through some of the outfits. He picks a simple dress with a pretty bow around the waist. It looks like something a younger girl would wear, but I've never looked my age. I like the evergreen color, but I have a feeling I will grow tired of it before the end of my stay here.

Elias leaves me to change. I shower quickly, and decide to let my dark curls air dry. I put on the dress, and it instantly improves my appearance. There is some makeup in one of the bathroom drawers. I use a little to hide the circles under my eyes. I don't know if there will be any cameras around tonight, but I don't want my family to see the toll this situation has already taken.

I put my security pass back on, and I head down the stairs. When I arrive in the dining room, Elias is already there. So is Charles, looking at the floor in his green polo shirt and jeans. A woman is there as well. She is wearing a dark green business suit. She smiles when she sees me.

"Corenn?" She sticks out a hand. "I'm Marda McKenzie, Charles' coach. It's a pleasure to be working with you."

I shake her hand and mutter "Nice to meet you", but she doesn't seem to notice. She looks at my dress and my hair and purses her lips.

"I'm sure the stylist can find a way to work with you," she says conversationally. "I can't wait to see what they do with my Charles." She flutters over to him and pats him on the back. He doesn't look at her.

Elias pulls a chair out for me and I sit down. He doesn't hold out a chair for Marda, which she notices with dissatisfaction. Charles sits down across from me. He stares at his empty plate. Marda chatters to him, but it's obvious he doesn't care what she's saying. I don't either. I wonder where the food is, and my stomach grumbles loudly.

The doorbell rings. Elias breathes a sigh of relief. He looks tired of pretending to listen to Marda. He gets up to answer the door and I move to follow him. I am surprised when Charles does the same. Marda seems flustered that we've all left the table, but soon she gets up too.

At the door stands a man in a black suit. He reminds me of a secret service agent from movies I've seen. He wears sunglasses even though it's nearly dark. Without a greeting, he steps inside the house. He pulls a phone from his pocket and looks at Elias.

"Badge, please," he says in a commanding voice.

Elias holds up his security pass. The man uses his phone to scan a small barcode at the bottom. The phone beeps, and he moves toward me.

"Badge, please," he repeats.

I hold up my badge like Elias did and the man scans it.

"Name?" He says with no change in his tone.

"Um...Corenn Alexander," I say and shift from foot to foot.

The man enters something into the phone and moves away from me. I let out a breath and look at Elias, planning to ask him what's going on. He catches my eye and shakes his head. The questions catch in my mouth. I silently watch as Charles and Marda are scanned. Charles is asked for his name as well.

The man pockets his phone and beckons to someone outside. Men and women clad in chef's attire walk in bearing trays of delicious smelling food. My mouth waters instantly, but I can tell from Elias's face that we are not allowed to follow them to the dining room yet. While the chefs deliver our food, the man in the black suit stands with us in the entryway. I glance at Charles and I can tell he is just as uncomfortable as I am. Thankfully, the chefs are quickly done. They exit without a word. The man nods to us and leaves behind them.

As soon as the door shuts, Elias heads back to the table. When we arrive in the dining room, my stomach lets out its loudest rumble yet. The food looks extravagant, and it is enough to feed at least twice our number. There is a large pot of some kind of pasta, sitting close beside a platter of bread. A bowl of potatoes sits near a plate of broccoli. Dessert is a red velvet cake and an iced bucket filled with chocolate ice cream. I instantly forget about the man in the suit.

I try to think about only my food. I know that too much thinking will make me lose my appetite again. I see that Charles does not eat nearly as ravenously as I do. I wonder if Marda managed to get him to eat on the trip here. Elias eats contentedly, looking happy that I'm finally having a meal. Marda picks at her food and shoots me dirty looks. I guess I'm not using proper etiquette. She seems like the kind of person who would care about that.

It takes me longer to finish than anyone else. While I'm having my second helping of ice cream, I notice that Charles glances at me and smiles. Marda resumes her pointless yammering. Elias sits his head on his hand and mumbles "uh-huh" at polite intervals. Charles doesn't talk, but no one tries to engage him.

When I am done, I sit back in my chair and close my eyes. Elias laughs.

"The evening ain't done yet," he stands up. He holds his arm out for me like an usher at a wedding. I laugh. It still sounds forced, but not as much. I think the food helped. I take his arm and he escorts me to the den. We sit on a huge couch in front of the television. Charles sits beside me. Marda grabs the remote control and stands in front of the tv like she's about to do a presentation.

"Tonight we will watch a short recap of the reapings from each state," she begins. "We want you to pay close attention so you can size up the competition." She pulls two green notebooks and pencils from a cabinet. "You will write down each representative's name and what you think his or her strengths and weaknesses may be. You will compare notes when you are done."

She flips on the tv and sits down. The announcers are interviewing a man I've never seen. A banner on the bottom of the screen says the recaps will start in ten minutes. I lounge and burrow myself into the couch. I don't want to listen to these men. I don't want to watch the reapings either, but Marda acts like it's a graded assignment.

A few seconds later, Elias nudges me in the ribs. Music is playing on the screen, and the man being interviewed is gone. I must have fallen asleep. I force myself into a less comfortable position. The announcers appear again. They introduce themselves as Kevin Landers and Richard Gaines. They explain that they will replay a segment of each state's reaping, beginning with Alabama and continuing alphabetically.

I watch as a girl named Tanya and a guy named Albert get called to the stage for Alabama. I write down their names. Tanya says that she is 24 years old. That's all she can manage through her tears. A chair has to be brought for her because she keeps crumpling to the floor. Albert says that he is 30 years old. He has a wife and two children. He looks angry. I don't blame him. I try to size them up like competitors, but I can't. I know how they feel. I feel the same way. I don't know what to write beside their names. I can see that Albert is a bit overweight, but that may not be a disadvantage. He could probably throw me farther than I could throw a football. Tanya looks very soft, like she isn't used to exercise. Albert puts a comforting hand on Tanya's shoulder and the camera cuts away. Alaska's reaping begins. These two are named Leah and John. They both look fit, and seem brave when they are chosen. Leah says she is 21 and has 4 brothers. John says he is 24 and married with a child on the way. A boy.

I throw my pencil down. "I can't do this," I say. "They're not my competition! They're just people! This is wrong!" I push the notebook out of my lap and bury my face in my hands.

"If you want to live very long, you're going to have to be a lot stronger than that," Marda says harshly.

Elias shoots her a look. He puts a comforting arm around my shoulders. I realize that he reminds me of my grandfather that died when I was young. The thought comforts me more than his arm. He looks at me and then at Charles. I see that Charles' notebook page is blank.

"How about I talk ya through it," Elias says to me, but he grabs Charles's notebook and puts it aside. "I know it ain't easy to look a person up and down like this, since you both are such nice kids. I don't want ya thinkin of ways to kill these folks. I just want ya both to understand that there _is_ a chance you can win. None of these other guys and gals are any different than you. They ain't perfect. Ain't nobody a sure winner."

Charles and I nod. Marda's lips are pressed together so tightly that I can barely see her bright lipstick. She doesn't argue, though. On television the Arizona reaping is almost over. The two representatives shed tears, but stand as proudly as they can. Next is Arkansas. A girl is chosen. She has to be helped to the stage.

"This girl, here, she lets her emotions run away with her," Elias says. "She's gonna have to spend a lot of training time learning to control that instead of learning to use a weapon."

A guy's name is called. He makes his way to the stage well enough, but when he's asked about himself, he stumbles and stammers over his words so much that I can barely understand him.

"This one doesn't work well under pressure," Elias notes.

The reapings continue on and on. Nothing notable happens until the Kentucky stage appears. I remember that this is the one where the well-known swimmer is picked. The announcers take extra time to explain who he is. His name is Logan Rienhart. He is 29 years old and he is one of the best distance swimmers in the world. He should have competed in the past two Olympic games, but an injury hindered him both times. I feel sorry for the guy. He's had some serious bad luck. His face is on the screen, as well as that of Kentucky's female representative, Anya.

"The girl is small, but that might be to her advantage," says Elias. "The boy, now he can be a threat if he wants to. He's got height, muscle, and endurance. He might be terrible with weapons, though, ya never know. He's one to keep a watch on."

Logan's face contorts in pain as his mother is dragged off by guards. The girl, Anya, goes to pieces as they take her husband away. Logan puts an arm around her to hold her up.

Louisiana. Maine. Maryland. The representatives start to look the same to me. Everyone wears a mask of pain and anger. Some cry, and some stand in stony silence. The man from Maine passes out, and a medical team has to be called. I dread watching the replay of my own reaping, but I know it can't be avoided. Minnesota draws their man and woman. I start to get antsy. The announcers talk for a minute or so, and then the screen switches.

Arthur Andrews appears, standing over a golden bowl and waving his hand. The announcers chat casually about the weather. I see Arthur's hand come out with the silver slip of paper that is my death sentence. He walks to the microphone and says my name. The camera can't find me at first because I don't stand right away. When I do stand up, the camera zooms in to see my face. I look determined and proud, my shoulders are back and my chin is held high. I'm surprised my attempt to look strong came off so well. I step onto the stage and answer Arthur's questions. Then it begins to rain. The cameras keep me in view while Arthur goes to the other bowl and draws Charles' name. I remember crying at that point in the ceremony, but the rain hides it. I still look calm and put together. Charles comes on the stage and exchanges a few words with Arthur. I notice that the announcers hardly comment on Charles at all, but they say that I am a "surprise". I look at Elias and he shrugs.

The screen cuts to Missouri. The reapings continue with Elias noting things about each person. The announcers take extra time on the Texas reaping, where the male representative is a volunteer. The woman that draws the names is obviously not prepared for this. The man strolls down the aisle and takes the microphone from her. He says that his name is Miller Hughes. He is 25 years old and a former police officer. He is very handsome and extremely muscled. He smiles and waves to the crowd. They cheer for him. He promises to put Texas in the history books as the first ever winner of the Hunger Games. The crowd gets even louder. Miller hands the microphone back to the stunned woman and goes to stand beside his fellow representative.

"He will be a problem," Elias says. "But remember, everyone has a weakness."

Each reaping makes me more depressed. Only one of us will be alive at the end of this. After the Wyoming representatives are drawn and the screen darkens, I let out a long breath and sink back into the couch. I feel overly tired, as if watching the recaps has taken a physical toll. Kevin and Richard come back on the screen. They explain that they have collected a group of experts that weighed in on each of the reapings. These experts then put together a list of 25 representatives that they think have a good chance at winning the Games. They start at 25 and work their way to number one. 25 is a man from Georgia. I barely listen to what they say about him. I close my eyes and start to doze. I already know who will be number one and two. It will be the guy from Texas and the swimmer from Kentucky.

I fall in and out of a light sleep. I hear that number 22 is from Ohio. Number 18 is from Montana. Number 16 is from New Jersey. I doze again. Elias grabs my hand and squeezes hard. I wake up and squint my eyes at him. He is focused on the screen. I look at the tv. My face is there, with a number 14 under it. Kevin and Richard say that my composure during the reaping is a good indicator of my confidence in the arena. I am too shocked to scoff at this assumption. They say that I am in good physical shape, and that alone puts me ahead of at least half the representatives. They note that I am attractive and well spoken enough to draw some sponsors who may help to keep me alive. Then they move on to number 13.

I look at Elias. He is grinning so wide that I have to laugh. Marda's mouth hangs open in shock. Charles gives me a small smile.

"See there, you're already makin an impression!" Elias claps me on the back.

I shake my head, still dumbfounded. I don't know what to say. I know I should argue that the "experts" were wrong about me, but I just sit and stare at the wall. I jump when Charles speaks.

"What's a sponsor?" He asks. I notice that he addresses the question to Elias instead of Marda.

Elias opens his mouth to answer, but Marda is too quick.

"I've told you this already, Charles," She scolds. "Donations will be accepted on behalf of each representative. Every person who donates is a sponsor. The money your sponsors send will be used at the discretion of your coach. We may send food if you are starving, or first aid if you are injured. The prices of such items will grow higher and higher as the Games progress. That's why it's important to draw a lot of sponsors, or to draw a few very wealthy ones."

I'm not sure what to make of this. Elias seems nearly giddy that I made the top 25. He can't stay in his seat. The rest of the countdown is uneventful. Number two is Logan from Kentucky and number one is Miller from Texas. No surprises there. Once the show is over, Elias announces that Charles and I need our beauty sleep. Tomorrow we will spend the day with our stylists, and tomorrow night will be the opening ceremonies. My stomach knots up, and I wish I hadn't eaten that second bowl of ice cream. I trudge up the stairs, saying good night to Charles on the way. He mumbles "night" in reply.

In my room I remove my dress and find a green pajama set in one of the dresser drawers. I put it on, but I don't feel sleepy anymore. All of the anxiety is creeping back into my mind now that I'm alone. I think of what the next days hold for me. I know none of it will be easy, but I must do as I am told. I have to keep Kade safe. I think of the arena and all of the faces I saw on television tonight. I don't want to kill them. I toss and turn on the fluffy bed considering what I will do when I am confronted with my death. I think that I will just let it come. I will try to run, and I will try to avoid it. But when it is time, I won't fight back. I won't hurt another person just for the sake of a game. It's the only way I have to show President Alanton that I am still my own person. I won't die a murderer. I roll onto my side. My curtains are closed, but I can see a light behind them. I know it comes from the house next door. I wonder if the representative there is having as much trouble sleeping as I am. I lay and stare at the ceiling, refusing to sleep my last days away.


	7. Chapter 7: Threat

**Chapter 7: Threat**

I awaken to a soft knocking on my door. I hear Elias say "Renn" a few times. I tell him to go away. Waking up to the flood of memories from the last few days is worse than just coping with it. I chide myself for going to sleep in the first place. I roll onto my stomach and put a pillow over my head.

When Elias comes back, he walks in without knocking. He goes to the closet and shifts some things around. He selects an outfit and goes in the bathroom. I don't acknowledge him. I hear the shower come on. I peek out from under my pillow. Elias hangs a green shirt and blue jeans on a hook, then walks toward my bed.

"Mornin," he says with a grin. He stands and looks at me with his eyebrow raised. I know he's not going to leave until I get up.

I sit up and throw the pillow at him. To my surprise, he catches it and sends it flying back into my face before I can react. The pillow falls to my lap. Elias can see my shock.

"Tomorrow we'll work on your reflexes," he says with a laugh. He walks out and shuts the door.

I shake my head. I wonder what else Elias can do_. _I hope he doesn't expect me to be a quick learner. I've never been good with guns, and I'm certainly not strong. I have a little muscle, for a girl. I work out sometimes. I like to go running, so I'm a bit thin. The only advantages I might have in the arena are stamina and speed. I can't run forever, though. I'm sure that Texas guy will kill me before I can even run. If he doesn't, then that swimmer guy will catch me in no time.

I close my eyes and rub them. I need to stop thinking about this. There's nothing I can do to change it, so I just have to find a way to get through it without losing my dignity. I stand up and assume the stance I had at the reaping. My chin is high and my shoulders are back. I march into the bathroom. I am ready for whatever comes.

When I walk downstairs, Elias is waiting for me again. Charles and Marda aren't there. Elias takes one look at me and nods his approval.

"Now you're gettin it," He says. "The way ya look can help ya survive almost as much as your skill."

I smile. I took the time to dry my hair and put on makeup. I look rested and composed.

I'm faking it.

I'm nervous, and I feel like an enormous weight has settled on my shoulders. Elias must notice because he pats my arm and gives me an encouraging smile.

"This mornin ain't no big deal," he says reassuringly. "We've gotta go to a meeting with all the other coaches and representatives, and then you'll meet your stylist. You won't have no cameras on ya till tonight."

I sink down into a chair at the big dining table. Elias makes me a bowl of cereal. I eat, but I pay no attention to the taste. My thoughts are elsewhere. I wonder what terrible news this meeting might bring. I wonder who my stylist will be and what he or she will do to me. I wonder what Kade is doing now.

I put down my spoon.

"I'm done," I say. "Where are Charles and Marda?"

Elias looks at my half empty bowl. "They went on to the meeting. Marda has this thing about bein early...You sure you're done?"

I nod. Elias stands and checks to make sure my security pass is around my neck. When we walk outside, there is a slight chill to the air. I rub my hands together. Elias wants to go back and get me a jacket, but I assure him that I'm fine. I like cool weather. It's refreshing for me to be out in the open, and by the time we reach the meeting place, I feel like the weight on my shoulders has lightened a bit.

When we walk inside, our security passes are scanned. A woman in a black suit hands me a new pass. This one is just like the other, but it has my name on it. There are other people in suits staring at me. Elias quickly takes my arm and pulls me aside.

"Alright now," he begins hesitantly. "You remember how I told you that you couldn't talk to any representative except Charles?"

I tell him I remember.

"Well, these here men are gonna make sure of that." He gestures at two of the men who are eyeing me. "They're just gonna put somethin over your mouth. It won't hurt, and it won't keep you from movin your mouth or breathin. It just makes it where no one can hear ya if ya do try and talk."

My eyes are wide with fear as the men step toward me. Elias holds my hand, and I'm glad he does. It's the only thing that keeps me from running away. One man pulls out a white piece of material. I can't tell if it's fabric or thin plastic. Maybe it's something else entirely. The other man is obviously there to restrain me if he needs to. The first man quickly presses the material to my mouth and runs his finger along the edges. Elias is right, it feels like nothing is there. I put my hand up to my face to feel it, and the second man reaches for me. I freeze. Elias steps in front of me.

"Whoa, now!" He says angrily. "She's just checkin it out, let her be."

The man looks unhappy, but he does as Elias says.

Elias gives me a sympathetic smile, and the men move away.

"Sorry about that," he says. "It's just that you can't take that thing off until they're ready for ya to."

I almost reply, but I remember that he won't hear me. I look at the floor.

"Aw, none of that," Elias says. "Keep your head up. You ain't the only one here with a muffler on your face."

I hear the sounds of a scuffle behind me and see a woman being restrained by one of the black suited men. She is obviously screaming, but the white muffler keeps her from being heard. Her coach is looking on in dissatisfaction, but he does nothing. I turn back to Elias. I want to thank him for making things so much easier on me, but I settle for a quick hug. Elias harrumphs and says "Aw, shucks," but I can tell he is pleased.

He leads me to a chair beside a girl with a muffler on.

"I've gotta go sit in the coach's section," Elias whispers. He points to a balcony above us where a large group of men and women mingle and chat. "You just sit here and stay calm. I'll be back to get ya before ya know it." He gives my arm a pat and walks away.

I sit down and take deep breaths. I try not to be alarmed that Elias has left me. _I'm getting too dependent on him_, I think. He can't come with me in the arena, so I need to get used to being on my own. The girl beside me wears a soft shade of yellow. Her shirt matches the man's on her other side. I suddenly wish that Charles were sitting by me. I look for him and finally spot him on one of the front rows. I notice that most state's representatives are sitting together. I wonder if Marda is trying to keep Charles and I from teaming up. That would probably be a death sentence for both of us in the arena if everyone else has partnered together. I know Marda doesn't like me much, but she seems to adore Charles. I decide to ask Elias about it later.

All of the chairs face a stage that is lined with security men and women. Some are in black suits and some wear black uniforms. They are all armed. I can only assume that they are afraid we might start a riot or decide to run away _en masse. _I watch the rows around me fill up. I notice Elias milling around in the balcony. He talks and laughs with a man in a light blue blazer. I see Marda following him with a big green flower in her hair and a huffy pout on her face. I smile. I hope she's mad because Elias told her how ridiculous her hair looks.

I jump when loud music starts playing. It is our national anthem. President Alanton changed the words, but not the tune. I never bothered to learn the new lyrics. The anthem merges seamlessly into "Hail to the Chief". My stomach knots.

At an unknown signal, the guards on stage move aside and a tall man strolls confidently to the microphone. I think I might throw up or pass out. The other representatives seem to feel the same way. I hear shuffling feet all around me. I glance at the woman by my side and she looks back at me. Her eyes are wide with fear.

President Verilius Alanton adjusts the microphone to suit his tall stature. I know from his television interviews that he has a very dominating presence. I feel his power even more in person. A shiver of terror runs through me as I look at him. He must be over six and a half feet tall. He towers over every other man on the stage. He is in his mid thirties, with dark hair and blue eyes. His eyes would be a handsome feature if they weren't so harsh and calculating. He wears a black suit, and his tie is the color of blood.

I realize I am digging my fingernails into my arm, but I can't stop. It has been nearly a year since America watched their entire government massacred on live television. Verilius had fired the last bullet himself. The former president had been sitting at his desk in the Oval Office. He knew what was coming. He died bravely, and Verilius shoved his body to the floor as if he were nothing. He sat in the President's blood-stained chair and announced that his reign had begun.

I was watching that night. I have never felt such fear at one man's power. I use all of my strength to stay still in my chair.

Alanton smiles at the crowd.

"Welcome, representatives!" He holds his hands up in a welcoming gesture. To me it looks more like a threat. "It pleases me to know that you and your families have arrived safely in this compound. I assure you that your relatives are being pampered in comfort and luxury." He pauses. "I must warn you, however, that this luxury will be extended only as long as your cooperation continues." He adjusts the microphone again, allowing time for his meaning to sink in. I dig my nails further into my arm.

"I expect each of you to fully dedicate yourself to your training," he continues. "Any skipped training sessions, security checks, or public appearances will indicate to me that you no longer wish to cooperate."

"Most importantly," he puts his hands together for emphasis, "I urge you to consider the consequences if you refuse to participate in the Games once you enter the arena. A representative who will not fight for his or her own life may be honorable, yes." He stares into the crowd, seeming to look at each one of us in turn. "But this person will also have the deaths of their closest family members on their conscience. I have the utmost confidence that you will abide by the rules I have set. Congratulations on the honor of being selected to represent your state. Good luck, and to ninety nine of you...Good bye." He grins smugly and leaves the stage.

I am very close to hyperventilating. By the looks of the faces around me, everyone else is too. All of the faces I see are pale. Some people are crying. Some cover their faces to hide whatever emotions lay there. Alanton has just insured that these Games will be a bloodbath.

I want to cry, but I don't. Just last night I had promised myself that I wouldn't kill in the arena. I wanted to die with dignity. Now, Alanton has stolen that from me. I open my mind to the possibility of taking someone's life. If I want my family to live, I will have to fight in the arena. To the death, if I must. I scan the crowd of representatives. Most look afraid to consider the thoughts that are going through my mind. I will have to kill them. Or put up a good fight while they kill me. These innocent people, who have done no wrong. They are only unlucky, like I am. Can I really do it? Can I really take someone's life?

I don't have to think about it.

Yes.

Yes, I can.

For my son.


	8. Chapter 8: Beautiful

**Chapter 8: Beautiful**

After Alanton leaves, another man comes up to the podium. I hear his voice, but I don't comprehend anything he says. I feel like I'm wearing the muffler on my ears instead of my mouth. I look around the room again and again, trying to take in every face. I may kill one of these people, and one of them will kill me. I decide that I won't hold it against them. Whoever takes my life will be saving their own family. I can't begrudge them for that.

I know it will be easier if I try not to think of the other representatives as people. I should try to see them as nameless faces. It will help if I feel nothing for the ones I fight against. It would help even more if I could hate them, but I can't. I want to memorize them. I want to see each one as a person with a life and a family. They have jobs and homes and hobbies. In another circumstance, maybe we could be friends. This is an injustice that has been done to them, just like it was done to me. For this moment, we can all be equal. We can all be afraid together.

I know it can't last.

The man at the microphone stops talking. Some of the representatives stand and begin to move toward the exit. I have no idea where to go next. Elias said he would come and get me, so I sit and wait for him. I watch Charles stand up and make his way down the rows. He spots me as he walks, and he ducks out of the crowd. I can see that he has been crying, but he looks more composed now. He sits down beside me. We look at each other for a long moment. We can't speak, but there is nothing to say. I squeeze his arm and he pats my hand. I am struck by how much I don't want him to die. He and Elias are the only friends I have to share my last days with. My shoulders slump and I look at the floor. Charles _will_ die. He has no chance against guys like Miller Hughes and Logan Reinhart.

Elias and Marda approach us. They both look solemn.

"I know all of that was hard for ya," Elias says, "But we're gonna have to get goin now."

He takes my hand, and I wobble as I stand up. Elias's grip keeps me steady as we walk out the door. Marda walks hand-in-hand with Charles, too. I feel a little better once we are outdoors again. It's a short walk to the large building where Elias says we will meet our stylists. When we walk in, Elias says good bye to Marda and Charles. I give a small wave to Charles, and he nods his head to me. Elias and I get on an elevator. When the doors close, he looks at me.

"You alright?" he asks with concern. "If I'd have known Alanton was gonna say all that, I would've prepared ya."

I shake my head and squeeze his hand. I don't think being prepared would have helped.

The elevator opens and we walk down a long corridor. Elias stops in front of a green door that holds a sign with my name on it. He knocks and the door opens almost instantly. It's obvious I was expected.

A man in a simple green shirt and black pants greets me with a smile.

"You must be Corenn!" He says in a bubbly voice. He hugs me quickly, but I just stand there holding onto Elias.

"Let's get that thing off of her," the man tells Elias, "So we can be properly introduced."

Elias gently turns my head and grabs the muffler by one of its edges. It comes off easily. I rub my mouth as the man ushers Elias and I into the room. I am plopped into a spinning chair and the man sits on a counter in front of me.

"I'm James," he says excitedly. "Tell me all about yourself, Corenn! I mean, I already know you're 28, and you have a cute little boy, and you're married! So, tell me how you met your husband! What's your favorite food? How-"

"Hold on there, James," Elias says with a laugh. "She's had a rough mornin. Maybe take it a little slower." He walks toward the door. "You're in capable hands now, Renn. I'm gonna get goin."

I jump out of the chair and run to him. "Don't leave me!" I say.

James looks offended, but Elias gives me a long look.

"I reckon I could wait a while," he says.

I sigh in relief and turn to James. "It's not you," I assure him. "I'm sorry." He still looks like a sad puppy so I add, "My favorite food is pizza."

James's face lights up with a grin. I sit back down in my chair. James brushes my hair while asking constant questions. I soon grow comfortable enough that I am forthcoming with my answers. I notice he stops asking about my family, and I am thankful.

It feel like hours before James says I can get out of the chair and have some lunch. I smile at him when I see it is pizza.

"I didn't know which kind was your favorite," he says, "so I ordered cheese, pepperoni, veggie, and sausage."

"I like them all," I say.

Elias eats pizza with me, while James has a salad. Elias doesn't say much, but I can see that he finds James amusing. So do I. I feel much more cheery than I did this morning, but my anxiety about tonight is starting to build.

"So, what exactly is going to happen tonight?" I ask with my mouth full.

James seems confused. He looks at Elias. "They didn't tell her anything?" he asks.

Elias smiles ruefully. "Yeah, they told her all about it. They told all of them kids this mornin, but I doubt a soul in there was listenin after the president got done talkin."

James frowns. "It was that bad?"

Elias nods. I stare at my pizza. Even James is silent for a moment. I can tell he wants to ask exactly what was said in that meeting, but he doesn't. He runs a hand through his bleached hair and focuses on his salad. I can tell that he is trying very hard to make me feel comfortable.

After a moment, Elias clears his throat.

"About tonight," he begins, "It really won't be a lot of work on your part. James will be taking care of all of that." He claps a hand on James' shoulder. "You're just gonna get all dolled up, and put on a pretty dress. Then they'll have you ride around in a nice car. It'll be like a parade, I guess. You just sit there and look good, and let the announcers talk about ya."

I think about all of the cameras that will be on me, and it doesn't seem as easy as Elias says. I try to finish my pizza, but my nerves are starting to get the best of me. By the time lunch is over, I can hardly sit still. James tries to work on my hair again, but he often has to tell me to quit fidgeting. His attempts at distracting me don't work. Eventually he sighs.

"What am I going to do with you?" He shakes his head and smiles. "I guess we can move on to the next step."

I groan. "What's the next step?"

James points to a padded table and grins. "Waxing," he says.

Twenty minutes later I am thoroughly distracted. Elias leaves the room because he doesn't want to see me "indecent", but he promises that he won't be far away. James tries to keep up a running conversation. I try to respond appropriately, but every time James rips a strip from my body I forget what I'm talking about. I am waxed in places that I KNOW won't be exposed in the arena. James says it's mandatory that female representatives have no body hair.

When the waxing is finally over, James rubs a solution on my skin. It calms the sting, and I relax a little. The rest of the afternoon is spent on various beauty treatments. A woman comes in to give me a quick manicure and pedicure. I wear a strange mouthpiece with a terrible tasting paste in it to whiten my teeth. James wraps my hair up in plastic and gives me a spray tan. I get at least twenty different cosmetics applied to my face. When I think I can't take any more, James announces that he is done.

"Finally!" I say. "I didn't know being beautiful took this much effort." I collapse into a chair.

"You were beautiful to start with," says James, "I'm just making sure you're unforgettable." He hangs a large garment bag over the mirror in front of me. "Do you want to see the dress?"

I nod. I don't usually care about fashion, but I know James put a lot of work into this. I pretend to be excited. He opens the garment bag with a "Ta-da!" and a flourish. Dark green silk falls to the floor and I gasp. I don't have to pretend. The dress is lovely. The fabric is a stunning evergreen color. The neckline is modest enough, but the sleeves are meant to sit just off my shoulders. The skirt is very full and simple. I gasp again when I realize what the dress is portraying.

"A southern belle has to have the best," James says. I can tell he likes my reaction. I stare in wonder at the gown. It looks like a modernized version of the dresses southern women wore more than a century ago. I can't wait to put it on.

James helps me dress, and zips me up. I turn to the mirror and hardly recognize myself. My hair falls in dark curls down my back. It looks much fuller and longer than before. I guess that James has given me some extensions. My makeup makes my eyes look large and bright. My white teeth shine as I smile, and the green of the dress seems to glow in the harsh light of the room.

James is on the verge of tears. "I have NEVER seen anything so beautiful!" He wipes his eyes and walks to the door. He leans out and calls Elias's name.

When Elias comes in, I stand up straight and give him a big smile. He looks nearly as emotional as James.

"Just look at ya!" He walks to me and takes both of my hands in his. "You make a plum fetching southern lady."

I curtsy in reply, which makes both men laugh. James slips on my shoes and gives me a pair of dainty white gloves. Elias escorts me into the hallway. Immediately my nerves return. I see other representatives milling around the corridor with their coaches and stylists. I am pleased to notice that my dress outshines all of the others I see. Elias holds one of my hands and James holds the other. We walk to the elevator and Elias pushes a button.

"Where are we going now?" I ask.

"We're gonna go meet up with Charles," Elias replies with a grin. "If he looks as good as you, we'll have sponsors lined up for miles."


	9. Chapter 9: Nerves

**A/N: Thanks so much for reading! **

**I still don't own the Hunger Games. What a bummer.**

**Chapter 9: Nerves**

When we step out of the elevator, I am surprised to see a crowd of stylists, coaches, and representatives. I notice that every group distances itself from the next, insuring that the representatives won't speak to one another. I'm surprised we aren't forced to wear mufflers. I spot Marda standing beside a tall woman and a very dashing Charles. His suit looks old-fashioned, like a historic southern gentleman. He pulls it off very well. I see that his stylist has fitted him for contacts, and his green eyes are very attractive without the thick glasses.

The tall woman looks thrilled when she sees me. She whispers to James, "No one else even compares to them!"

I look around. The brightly colored dresses remind me of my high school prom. I notice some very pretty girls, but no one else has a dress that is themed for their state. Mississippi will certainly be memorable. Charles elbows me softly in the ribs.

"Nice dress," he says.

I grin. "You aren't so bad yourself."

Charles blushes and smiles. I see that he has had his teeth whitened too.

"Alright, alright," Marda says, lightly clapping her hands. "It's time to get a move on." She ushers us to a door.

I notice that none of the other representatives are leaving. I think that maybe Marda really does have a "thing" about being early, as Elias said.

When we step outside, the sun is starting to set. The evening is cool, but not cold. I see huge stadium lights shining in a big coliseum in the distance. Music is playing, and I hear a cheering crowd. I'm so nervous that I'm shaking. Charles asks if I need his coat, but I try to assure him that I'm fine.

After about twenty steps I say, "There's no way I'm making it all the way over there in these shoes." I bend down to take them off, and James nearly has a nervous breakdown. I freeze and put my foot back down, laughing at his absurdity.

"We don't have to walk far," Marda says, and sets a brisk pace in the opposite direction of the coliseum. I shuffle quickly behind her, trying to keep my balance. When we round a corner, there is a long line of parked vehicles. When we get closer I can see that these are extremely nice cars. I don't know what kind they are, but I can tell that Elias and Charles do. Elias lets out a low whistle and Charles gasps so loudly that I jump. The cars are all black and have their tops down. The front car has the shape of the state of Alabama on its hood below the word "Alabama" in maroon calligraphy. Marda leads us down the line. As we walk, I notice that only two other states have come to their cars before us. I sigh and wonder how long we will have to sit and wait for everyone else.

When we reach our car, Charles and Elias immediately go to the driver and start asking questions about horsepower and max speeds. James and Charles's stylist talk animatedly. I think I hear James call her "Lissa". Marda and I stand awkwardly next to one another. I shift from foot to foot, trying to lessen the ache from my uncomfortable shoes.

"You can go ahead and get in the car if you'd like," Marda says without looking at me. I see that her shoes look even more pointy and stiff than mine, but she shows no sign of discomfort.

I open the passenger door and clamber inside. My skirt puffs up around me, so I leave the door ajar. James would kill me if I wrinkled my dress before showtime. I lay my head back and look up at the sky. It is cloudless, and the stars are starting to shine in the gathering darkness. I wish that all of the lights around us were off so I could see them better. Thomas and I used to look at the stars together. We haven't done it as much since Kade was born, but I still feel like it's something that connects us. I stare at the moon and think of home.

When Elias says my name, I am snapped from my reverie. I don't know how much time has passed, but I see representatives milling around every car. It must be time. I get out of the car and let James do some last minute adjustments to my face and hair. I try to breathe evenly, but I am scared to death. James attempts to comfort me. It doesn't help. Charles is ushered into the backseat of the car. He sits on top of the seat rather than in it. I need both James and Lissa to help me get in position. Once I'm sitting beside Charles, James fluffs my dress out and smoothes it. He insists that I have nothing to worry about, and that I'll be spectacular.

After I put my gloves on, James declares me perfect. Elias walks to the car and takes my hand.

"It'll be over with in no time," he says comfortingly. "You just flash that pretty smile and everybody will love ya."

I nod, but I don't feel any calmer. I listen to Marda give Charles a running commentary of tips. I try to swallow, but my mouth is dry. The car cranks and I clench Elias's hand.

"I can't do it!" I say in a panic. "I can't, I can't, I can't, I-"

Elias shushes me. "Now you listen to me," he says in a kind voice, "I know you can do it."

I force myself to take deep breaths. "How do you know?" I ask.

"Because your boy will be watchin," he says simply.

I stare at Elias for a long moment. I release his hand and slowly straighten up. I look ahead determinedly.

"That's my girl," Elias says. He gives my knee a quick pat and walks away. Marda continues to shout instructions as our car drives off. I don't listen to what she's saying. I don't think Charles does either. Both of his hands are gripping the car so tightly that his knuckles are white.

I make myself breathe normally. Kade will see me tonight. I can't let him know how afraid I am. The replays of this parade might be shown on television for years to come. I want him to be proud of what he sees once he's old enough to understand. He should remember me looking beautiful and brave.

I can see that Charles is starting to sweat despite the chilly air. He looks at me with wide eyes.

"Can you distract me, please?" He says.

I wrack my brain for things to say, but I realize I know nothing about Charles.

"Ummmm..." I say. He gets paler every second. "I guess Marda and Elias knew we wouldn't need dinner," I blurt.

Charles's mouth slowly forms a smile. He laughs lightly. "Yeah, I was hungry before, but now I'm glad I didn't eat."

I smile. "Is it weird not having your glasses?" I am not a very good conversationalist, but Charles doesn't seem to mind.

"Yeah, I feel kind of naked," He says.

I laugh. We make ridiculous small talk while the car creeps closer to the lights and sounds of the coliseum. I jokingly tell him not to sweat off his spray tan, and he insists that it's at least 100 degrees. I comment that I may be cold because I recently lost all of my body hair. He sarcastically thanks me for giving him the bedroom full of summer flowers. I tell him that he must have really bad luck, since he also got stuck with Marda. We laugh loudly enough that the representatives from the car in front of us look back.

Our car stops outside the massive coliseum, and I hear the Alabama representatives being announced. There are a lot of cheers for them. The announcer quickly moves on to Alaska. The states are called one by one, and the cars move forward at a steady pace. We are approaching the entrance more quickly than I'd like. Soon, Kentucky's car enters the stadium. I can barely understand the announcer over the deafening roar. Our car creeps forward. Charles gives me a shaky smile.

"Were you ever on the Homecoming court in high school?" He asks.

"Yeah, right!" I say loudly. "I was president of the science club. I think that automatically disqualified me for the Homecoming court."

Charles snickers. "Yeah I know what you mean. I was in the marching band."

The car in front of us is announced, and I look at Charles seriously.

"This is our night," I say. "We're just a couple of geeks from Mississippi that weren't popular or cool." I gesture to our outfits, "But look at us now."

Charles's mouth spreads into a wide grin. He nods and holds his arm out. "Ma'am?" He says teasingly.

I take his arm. "Why thank you, sir," I say in my best southern belle accent.

Our car pulls into the stadium.


	10. Chapter 10: Announcements

**A/N: Thank you sooooo much for the follows, favorites, and reviews! It means so much!**

**Chapter 10: Announcements**

As soon as we enter, I can tell that I grossly underestimated the size of the coliseum. There are people everywhere. The stadium is shaped like a circle, so the crowd's cheers can be heard from all sides. I see giant screens mounted on tall pedestals in the middle of the floor. The screens are currently showing a picture of the Minnesota representatives who are in the car ahead of us. I look out into the sea of people closest to our car. Most of them have their eyes trained on the screens, but some of them notice Charles and I. They point fingers at us and applaud. I smile and wave to them.

A voice over a loudspeaker booms, "From Mississippi, Charles Midden and Corenn Alexander!"

The huge screens suddenly cut to our car. We both flash wide grins. I muster up every ounce of courage to keep from shaking. I'm glad my arm is wrapped in Charles's so he can keep me steady. _Just fake your way through it, _I tell myself. I raise my gloved hand and the audience goes crazy. Most people were already standing, but a few stragglers jump out of their seats now. Charles waves to a nearby camera, and I bat my eyelashes. The crowd loves it. As our car travels slowly along, people in the audience call to us. They ask us to smile for their camera. They ask us to blow them kisses. I even see a few people waving poster boards that support us. I take special care to acknowledge them. They made those signs before they even knew how we would look tonight.

The big screens flash to the Missouri representatives who look nervous and terrified. Apparently, they don't make the same impression as Charles and I because the screens cut back to us often. We circle the entire stadium. Once we are back where we started, the driver turns toward the center of the huge floor area. We park at a designated spot amid the other representatives' cars. A girl in a fluffy blue dress shoots me an angry look. She isn't the only one. I stiffen, and Charles pats my hand.

"Don't worry about them," he whispers. "They're just jealous."

I smile at Charles and try to relax. The cameras are still turning to us from time to time. I know I have to stay composed. Kade is watching me. I also know I'm terrified that the other representatives seem to see Charles and I as threats. I guess they think our good show tonight will draw us more sponsors than them. _We'll only have sponsors while we're still alive,_ I think angrily. I shiver as I realize the other representatives are probably thinking the same thing.

I try to look only at the screens. Charles seems to be handling all of this well, though he has sweat running down his face. I'm impressed with his performance. I hope that he has some unknown prowess with weapons. With a lot of sponsors, a little talent, and a truckload of luck maybe he could win the Games. If it can't be me, then I want it to be him.

We sit silently, and wait for the rest of the representatives' cars to enter the stadium. I make myself smile continuously, and when I see myself on the screens, I wave. Soon, my repetitive actions get tiresome. There are too many people here. Too many who are supporting this senseless sacrifice of human life. They are letting Alanton win. They are going to give money to this charade, and they're going to root for us as we kill each other. I can't believe how far my fellow Americans have come from the united country we once were. I feel my smile slipping, so I try to think of something else.

When the Texas car enters, the audience goes into a frenzy. Miller Hughes wears a black suit with a red tie. It is very simple, but it complements his naturally handsome features. Even I have to admit that he is impressive. The woman from Texas looks gorgeous in her red gown, but she sits quietly with her hands in her lap. I admire her courage. I would be afraid to ignore the crowd like she does. I wonder if Alanton will count her inaction as a "refusal to cooperate". Miller is interacting with the crowd enough for both of them. He stands in the backseat of the car and waves with both hands. I am amazed that he can keep his balance. He bends down to the floorboard and stands back up with a bouquet of red roses. He begins throwing flowers one by one to random members of the audience. He completely ignores his fellow representative. The crowd calms down a bit when the Texas car parks and Miller sits down. The screens still show him often, though. Much more often than they show Charles and I. I guess our moment in the spotlight is over.

When Wyoming's car finishes its lap around the circle, the announcer gives one more opportunity for everyone to take pictures and cheer for us. After a few minutes, he asks for silence. A platform begins to rise from a small space between the screens. I see a man standing on it, holding a microphone. When the crowd sees him, they start cheering again, despite the announcer's attempts to keep them quiet. I recognize the man from tv interviews and advertisements, but I can't remember his name or position. He is a short, white-haired man with a big mustache that looks cartoonish. He wears a white suit with a pink tie. I almost want to laugh. I hear Charles give a light chuckle. I guess this man has been on television often since the reapings because the audience seems to know him, but none of the representatives do. I see a lot of them raising their eyebrows, and some smirk at the man's comical appearance. I note with pity that a few of the representatives don't seem to notice him at all. When the platform stops moving, the man is towering over us. He taps the microphone, which sends a loud squeal through every speaker in the coliseum. I put my hands over my ears, and I hear groans from people all around me.

"Sorry! Sorry!" The little man says. He has a high pitched voice that trembles slightly. I can't tell whether the shaking is from nerves or excitement.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he begins, "I declare the First Annual Hunger Games officially in session!"

The crowd roars. The little man clears his throat and waits for them to quiet down.

"My name is Thaddeus Pumpernickel." He announces. Charles and I both giggle quietly. "I am the Head Gamemaker, and Master of Ceremonies for this evening's event!"

The crowd claps for him again. I exchange a questioning look with Charles. I'm not sure what a Head Gamemaker is, but it sounds like he has a high ranking position in the creation of these Games. I try to see something sinister about him, but I find nothing.

"The arena I have created will showcase both the strengths and weaknesses of each representative," he continues. "There will be non-stop action, and non-stop coverage for the entertainment of viewers at home. America will be the first to attempt this foray into a new realm of reality television. I can assure you, America, that these Hunger Games will never be forgotten!"

The crowd cheers. I am shocked at their callousness. _It's like we're not even real people to them, _I think. _They're treating us like we're just actors on a tv show._

Thaddeus waits for silence again. "Tonight I will make a long-awaited announcement," He says, and the audience gives a collective gasp. "I will disclose the prize package for the 1st ever Hunger Games winner!"

Of course, the crowd is ecstatic. I sigh. I wish they would just shut up so we could get on with this.

Thaddeus pulls a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolds it. "Firstly, I will announce the prizes for the winner's home state. I ask that you hold your applause." He stares at his paper for a long moment. "I hereby declare that the winning state's citizens will receive a full year of exemption from all state and federal taxes. The 49 states whose representatives do not win will receive an increase in both state and federal taxes to balance the amount that is excused from the winning state." I hear a few boos in the audience. I am surprised that there isn't a stronger reaction. Most of the people here will get a tax increase. That usually ticks people off. Then, I understand why. I see uniformed men scattered all around the crowd. None of them have their weapons drawn, but they all make it very obvious that they have one. The few people that dared to express their dislike are handcuffed and towed away before Thaddeus continues.

"The winning state will also receive a Sustenance Grant. This grant entitles each household to one hundred dollars every month for the purchase of food items. This grant will be given in addition to any assistance the household may already receive. The tax increases for the losing states will also cover the costs of the Sustenance Grant." The audience sits in silence. I stare at Thaddeus in disbelief. I'm not a mathematician, but I know that if a large state wins -like Texas- then the rest of the country will be financially destitute if they have to cover all of those costs.

Thaddeus continues to stare at his piece of paper. I begin to wonder if he is also unhappy with the prizes. The small amount of his mouth that isn't covered by the puffy mustache is turned down in an obvious frown.

"Secondly," he announces, "are the prizes for the winner." He pauses and looks for the first time at the representatives in the cars surrounding him. "The victor will win a house of his or her choice, to be bought or constructed, within the borders of the continental United States. The victor will also be given a monthly allowance of fifty thousand dollars for the remainder of his or her lifetime. This allowance may be spent at the victor's discretion. A vehicle of the victor's choice will also be awarded to him or her, and a replacement vehicle will be provided every five years, as long as the victor lives."

Thaddeus folds up his paper and places it back in his pocket. He clears his throat loudly, which sends the microphone squealing again.

"Oh dear," he says. "Perhaps next year I will pre-record this announcement in order to spare your eardrums." The audience laughs lightly. Thaddeus seems to realize that he has made a joke, and he grins. "This concludes the announcement of the prizes! Now give your representatives another round of applause as they leave the stadium!"

The audience seems to have regained its good humor. They cheer and clap as the screens cut away from Thaddeus and on to the representatives' cars. The cars file out one-by-one, and it seems like forever before our car reaches a point where no cameras can see us anymore.

Charles and I both exhale loudly. I realize I'm still holding onto his arm.

"Sorry!" I say and quickly let go.

Charles smiles tiredly. "Don't apologize, it was my idea."

I slide down into the backseat so I can rest my back. I don't care if my dress gets wrinkled now. Charles slides down beside me and tries to move my skirt out of the way.

"Oh, just sit on it," I say, and Charles laughs.

I am so relieved that the ceremony is over. I take off my gloves and shoes, and I toss them into the front seat. The driver looks back and gives me a small smile. Charles unbuttons his suit coat and takes it off, throwing it on top of my shoes. He lounges in the seat and closes his eyes. I rest my head on the side of the car and appreciate the silence. I think tonight went as well as it could have, and I try to be happy about it. The announcement of the prizes weighs heavily on my mind. I know it won't affect me, but it will affect my family. I wonder how they will survive with the extreme tax hikes. If only Mississippi could win. Our state really needs the financial help, and the population is small enough that maybe it wouldn't burden the rest of the country too badly.

I look at Charles. His eyes are still closed, so he can't see me examining him. I glance at his arms, which are decently muscled, though they can't compare to Miller Hughes' giant arms. Charles carries a bit of extra weight around his middle, but that could help him stay alive longer if he's faced with starvation. I wonder how fast he can run, and I decide his long legs could probably cover a lot of ground. In the middle of my analysis, Charles opens his eyes. I quickly look away.

"What?" He says.

"Nothing," I reply without looking at him.

He sits up and rests his elbows on his knees. "Were you deciding how to kill me?" He asks seriously.

"WHAT!" I yell. The driver slams on the brake and looks back at us. When he sees that nothing is wrong, he rolls his eyes and continues on. I stare open-mouthed at Charles.

"It's okay if you were," He says.

"But I wasn't!" I retort. "I was just trying to decide what physical advantages you have."

"So you'd know how to kill me?" Charles asks. This time I can tell he's joking.

I punch him on the arm. "Because I need you to _win_, stupid."

Charles looks taken aback by my answer. His face soon dissolves into a painful expression. "I can't win, Corenn. Surely you know that."

I bury my face in my hands. "No. I don't know that," I say. But I do know. Deep down I know there is really no chance for him to win. Mississippi won't have a victor this year.

Charles puts a hand on my shoulder. We ride in silence until our dark green house comes into view. The door is open and light is spilling out onto the lawn. I see shadows milling around the doorway, and I wonder what fresh horror is waiting for us there. As soon as we pull up to the house, we are bombarded by our coaches and stylists. Elias reaches me first and helps me out of the car.

He gives me a quick hug. "I'm proud of ya," he says.

Before I can reply, I am swept into James's arms. He tells me how beautiful I looked on tv, and says that I will probably have a thousand sponsors by morning. His speech is slightly slurred. I notice a champagne glass in his hand and roll my eyes. Lissa plants a kiss on my cheek, and even Marda gives me a congratulatory handshake.

"Do you want to watch the replay?" James asks me as we walk into the house.

"Mostly I just want to get out of this dress," I say blandly, and I head for my room.

James walks up the stairs with me, and I am soon lounging contentedly on my bed in a pair of gray sweatpants and a green t-shirt. James expertly hangs the dress and puts it in a large garment bag. We go into the bathroom and he removes all of my makeup. When he's done, he insists that we go downstairs and watch the recap of tonight's event.

In the living room, Marda and Lissa are giggling while refilling their glasses with champagne. Charles and Elias sit on the couch and silently watch the television. On the screen are Kevin and Richard. They discuss the most memorable fashion statements made by the representatives tonight. They mention a beautiful girl from North Carolina who wore a daring violet dress. They also show a picture of Logan Reinhart, looking very handsome in a gray suit. Miller Hughes is discussed, of course. An adorable girl from Ohio wears a bright shade of pink. The Alaska representatives look striking in white, and the man from California wears a complete suit of sunny yellow.

Then, a photo of Charles and I flashes onto the screen. Charles is winking while waving at the camera, and I am blowing a kiss. Kevin and Richard declare us the standouts of the night. They discuss the brilliance of our stylists for coming up with themed outfits. They play a pre-recorded interview of James, where he explains every step that went into designing my dress. I laugh. Now I see why James wanted so badly to watch these recaps.

Everyone claps for James when his interview is over. Lissa offers Charles and I a glass of champagne, but we refuse. We decide to go into the kitchen and raid the cabinets. Our skipped dinner has caught up with us. I find a box of crackers and a bottled water. Charles makes a huge bowl of cereal. We sit at the table and try to eat. James and Lissa rush into the dining room to tell us every time we are mentioned on tv. At first I am pleased to know that we are mentioned often, but after a few minutes I get a bit annoyed with the interruptions. Once Charles is done with his cereal, we take my box of crackers into the living room and share it on the couch.

Marda has obviously had a bit too much to drink. She doesn't seem to notice that her lipstick is smeared, and her balance is severely impaired. Elias tells her to take her high-heeled shoes off, but Marda seems to think he wants her to take off the rest of her clothes too. She plops down in Elias's lap, and he spits and sputters so much that Charles and I nearly choke on our crackers while we laugh. Elias stands Marda back on her feet, but she doesn't take the hint. I completely ignore the television for the next few minutes. Marda and Elias are much more entertaining. Marda's advances become serious enough that I remind Elias to lock his bedroom door before he goes to sleep.

Marda sits on the couch beside Elias and wraps her arms around his neck. He gives me an exasperated look.

"Can ya help me out here?" He asks.

I pop a cracker into my mouth. "Looks like you're doing fine to me," I say.

Charles chuckles loudly, but he abruptly turns it into a cough when he sees the look on Elias's face. After a few minutes, Marda switches her advances to James, and Elias relaxes on the couch.

"Oh you're not really my type, sweetie," I hear James tell Marda.

Elias looks at Charles and I seriously. "I think it'll probably be best if we don't mention any of this to her in the morning," he says.

I picture myself teasing Marda about her drunken antics. Then I picture her beating me to death with her pointy shoe. Charles and I both nod our agreement. We won't say a word.

After Lissa spills a drink down the back of Elias's shirt and Marda breaks a lamp, I consider going to bed. There's no telling at what indecent hour our training will start in the morning. Just as I decide to head upstairs, Kevin and Richard say that the President wishes to make a short statement. The screen switches over to a brightly lit room containing a large desk and chair. Verilius Alanton sits behind the desk, looking stony faced. He has his hands folded in an attempt to be casual, but he can't fool me. Everything about this man screams danger. I hold my breath, fearing any statement that he would take the time to make himself.

"My fellow Americans," He begins with a sneering smile. "It has come to my attention that some of you are unhappy with the prize package for our Hunger Games victor." He leans forward in his chair, looking directly into the camera. "Unfortunately, it will not be changed. I urge you to devote every dollar of support that you can to your state's representatives. Your sponsorship may help them to succeed and therefore earn the prize package for your state." Alanton relaxes, but his face conveys anger. "It seems to me that my announcement of the First Annual Hunger Games was not taken very seriously. Only one state submitted a voluntary representative. I assure you that my words are to be taken as fact. Perhaps next year, every state will have volunteers that will be equipped to bring home a victory. I will not take pity on you for your lack of preparation. The losing states this year _will cover_ every dollar of the winning state's taxes and Sustenance Grant. I expect the 2nd Annual Hunger Games to be quite a show." He snickers evilly. "Good night, America, and may God help you."

The screen cuts back to Richard and Kevin, who look very pale. They stammer and clear their throats before continuing with the program. Elias pats my arm and stands up.

"Well, on that note, I think I'm gonna hit the hay," he says and looks at me. "Don't be up too late. You've gotta get an early start in the morning."

I immediately jump up to follow him. So does Charles. I notice that Marda, James, and Lissa look far less festive than before. They mutter "good night" to us, and we trudge up the stairs.

When I lay down, I fall asleep immediately, even with the President's statement echoing in my mind. Today was long and tiring, and I don't expect tomorrow to be any better.


	11. Chapter 11: Hand-to-hand

**Chapter 11: Hand-to-Hand**

The next morning I make myself stumble to the bathroom when Elias knocks on my door. It's still dark outside, so I know it's early. I don't feel much more wakeful after my shower, and the dark circles under my eyes seem far more obvious than they had yesterday. I find that Elias has laid out a green tank top and black workout pants while I was in the bathroom. I am tempted to grab a few more minutes of sleep, but I decide to dry my hair and put on a little makeup. I pull on some athletic shoes and hang my security pass around my neck. When I trudge down the stairs, I find Charles at the dining table with his head down. Elias is drinking a large mug of coffee. I see no sign of Marda.

I eat a bowl of cereal in silence. Elias gives me some coffee. I guess he must have made it himself because it tastes like mud. It perks me up a little, though. When it's time to leave, Elias wakes Charles up and ushers us out the door.

"Where's Marda?" I ask.

"I figure we ought to let her sleep in," Elias answers, "I'm hopin it might improve her temper a little."

As we walk, I glimpse some other representatives and their coaches. They all travel in a different direction than we do.

"Where are they going?" I say.

Elias glances at me with a smile. "Well ain't you full of questions this mornin," he teases. "They ain't gonna try to train all one hundred of ya together. Them others are probably headed to a different training center. You'll be in a class with the other southern folks."

"Southern folks?" Charles says after a moment. "You mean geographically southern?"

"Well, yeah I guess," Elias says. "The government calls it the Southern Region, but some of them states ain't got a true southerner amongst the whole lot."

"Great," Charles says with a groan.

I start to ask him what the problem is when the answer hits me. "We'll be training with Texas and Kentucky," I say with dread.

Elias walks between Charles and I. He puts an arm around each of us. "Now, don't you worry about a thing," he says comfortingly. "There won't be no real fightin in these sessions, and you'll be wearin your mufflers. It's not likely that you'll interact with them at all."

I nod, but I don't feel any better. I don't want to see how good Miller and Logan are. It will just make me more afraid of them.

We are a solemn trio as we approach the steps of the training building. Elias doesn't have anymore comforting words to say as our security passes are scanned. A woman puts our mufflers on and shows us where to go. Elias follows us to the doorway of the big training room. I see a few representatives inside. They are all wearing mufflers, and they look as awkward and anxious as I feel. Elias puts one hand on my shoulder and one on Charles's.

"I'll be back to get ya at noon," he says. "I promise ya that. It's just a few hours of this, and then we'll go back to the house and have a good lunch." He gives us both a short hug, and watches us walk into the big room. I feel like it's the first day of kindergarten, and Elias has just put us on the school bus. Charles and I walk close together, trying not to look at anyone else.

The room has mirrors on every wall. There is an elevated platform at one end, and the rest of the floor space is filled with big mats. Charles and I find an unoccupied corner. We sit on the floor and wait.

I try to watch the other representatives without making it too obvious. Everyone stands or sits with their state partner. I see a man and woman wearing bright orange t-shirts. They seem to be as uncomfortable with each other as they are with everyone else. They stand awkwardly back to back. I see a gorgeous girl in a very revealing violet shirt. I remember her from the recaps of the opening ceremony. I think she is from North Carolina.

The room starts to fill up as more representatives arrive. I see Logan Reinhart enter. He keeps his eyes on the floor and holds the hand of his state partner. She looks like she has been crying. I catch a glimpse of the Alabama representatives, Albert and Tanya, wearing matching maroon shirts. A few men and women in tight black workout garb mill around the room adjusting the mats. They aren't wearing mufflers. I assume they are the training instructors.

When Miller Hughes enters, he strides quickly away from his state partner and stretches out on a mat as if he plans to take a nap. Charles and I exchange a look. We know he's trying to make all of us nervous with his confidence. It's definitely working.

We sit and wait in our corner for so long that I get antsy. I almost suggest to Charles that we play a game of "rock, paper, scissors", but I decide against it. Eventually, one of the trainers stands on the platform.

"Good morning. I am your Head Trainer, Sonia," she says. "This morning we are going to work on hand-to-hand combat. When you are in the arena, there is a strong chance that you will spend some time without a weapon. Today, you will learn many techniques to protect yourself in a scenario where you face an attacker unarmed. Please line up on the mats, and we'll get started."

The representatives quickly comply. Charles stands on my right side, and a guy in dark blue stands on my left. We all stretch our arms out to make sure we have ample space to move without hurting each other.

"Very good," Sonia says. "We will begin by discussing the realities of hand-to-hand combat. In the arena you will likely be tired, injured, sick, cold, hungry, or any combination of these. You must try to preserve as much strength as possible. The best way to do this is to incapacitate your attackers quickly. Aim for the eyes, ears, throat and joints. You may think you have no weapons, but you do. As long as you have fingers, elbows, knees, feet, and teeth - you can be lethal." She shows us a few example moves with one of the other trainers.

"Having said that," Sonia continues, "I also think that defensive training is underestimated. If you can hold off an opponent long enough to escape or find a weak spot, then you can survive. Therefore, we will spend half of the morning discussing defense."

The defensive training is a myriad of moves and impulsive actions that make my head spin. Some of the trainers come by and pretend to throw punches at me so I can practice blocking them. They all praise my efforts, but they praise everyone else too. I try to absorb every word that Sonia says, but I know I have forgotten half of it by mid-morning.

We are allowed a short break with security men who escort us to the restroom and take our mufflers off long enough for us to have a drink of water. Charles is soaked with sweat, but he is holding up better than some of the others. I see quite a few representatives collapse on the floor to rest during the break. I am suddenly very glad that I have always exercised regularly.

Sonia asks us to line up again after only ten minutes. This time I stand between Charles and a woman in light green who looks like she might pass out. Sonia begins teaching us offensive moves. I punch, kick, and elbow the air in front of me so many times that I get bored. Soon, we are pairing these moves with the defensive tactics we learned earlier. I watch Charles. He does well, though his movements are not as quick as mine. The woman on my other side barely performs her moves at all. She stops frequently and rests her hands on her knees. She isn't the only one who struggles. I begin to have a little bit of hope. Charles and I might stand a chance in the arena if we stay together. We are one of the only states where both representatives are performing well. I notice that Logan Reinhart has to encourage his partner to participate. She often goes into a daze and stands perfectly still, as if she has forgotten where she is. Logan grabs her arm or pats her back and she reluctantly starts going through the motions again. Miller Hughes stands nowhere near his partner. I finally find her on the back row. She is performing well, but she and Miller are obviously not working as a team.

I can see why they're not. Miller doesn't need her. I watch him move from stance to stance like a predatory cat. He is quicker and more agile than a person his size should be. I can't watch him long. He make me too nervous.

Eventually, Sonia tells us we've done a great job, and asks that we partner with another representative to practice sparring. I quickly turn to Charles. He playfully punches my arm.

"Unfortunately," Sonia says. "I must ask that you partner with a representative who is not from your own state."

I cringe. The woman in light green comes to stand by Charles. He shrugs his shoulders at me. I look around the room. Everyone is milling around and partnering up. I wander aimlessly through the group of representatives, but everyone I approach has already found a partner. Eventually I raise my hand to get Sonia's attention.

"You don't have a partner?" Sonia asks me. I shake my head. Sonia looks around the room. "Who else doesn't have a sparring partner?"

I see a muscled arm raise, and my heart stops.

It's Miller Hughes.

I can tell he's smirking at me even with the muffler on his face. I make my way toward him, and the other representatives politely step out of my path. I realize I have gotten the partner no one else wanted, and everyone is relieved. When I reach Miller, he sticks his arm out to shake my hand. I put my hand in his and he squeezes. HARD. Hard enough that I worry my fingers might break. I try to make my face expressionless, but I feel my eyebrows knotting in a grimace. Miller releases me. He is at least a foot taller than I am, and probably weighs 100 pounds more. I can't see our sparring match going well, much less an encounter in the arena. I remember Miller's cat-like prowess earlier and I bite my lip.

Sonia tells each team to find its own mat. That isn't hard for Miller and I. Everyone stays as far away from Miller as possible. I take deep breaths. I try to consider what Elias would tell me to do in this situation. _He'd tell me to do my best, _I think. _And he'd tell me that everyone has a weakness. _I look at Miller. He seems to be made of rock. I don't know what his weakness could possibly be.

"For the purposes of this training," Sonia begins, "You will spar with an opponent that you have never met. This will help you learn to adapt your methods quickly for each fight. First, size up your opponent. Will their defense be impenetrable? Can they move faster than you? Then, think of yourself. What are your strengths? How can you use them?"

"Now," Sonia says in a commanding voice, "We are not in the arena. There is no need to injure your opponent during this exercise. I understand that accidents happen, but you must do your best to leave your partner unharmed. You may begin."

Miller looks at me. I raise both of my arms into a defensive position. My hands are clenched into tight fists. I hop from foot to foot to try and shake my nervousness. Miller raises his hands and immediately throws a punch.

I duck. His fist sails through the air where my face was. I consider how hard he would've hit me if I hadn't ducked. Miller throws his other fist forward. I block his arm, but the impact makes me stumble. I know I will have a bruise where his arm met mine. I look at Miller's face. His eyes are fierce and hard. I can tell that Sonia's words had no impact on him. This isn't just practice. This is what he lives for.

I duck and dodge a few more punches. I have a slight speed advantage simply because I am smaller. He lunges toward me and grabs my wrist, but I twist away before he is able to tighten his grip. He starts to look frustrated, which makes my stomach clench. I know he isn't trying his hardest.

Miller begins throwing punch after punch. I dodge as many as I can, but I have to block some. This puts me extremely off balance, and I fall to one knee. Miller quickly kicks my other leg out from under me and sends me crashing to the floor. I curl up and roll away from him. I manage to sit up, but Miller grabs my arms before I can do anything else. He lifts me into the air, pinning my arms to my sides. I slam my knee into his stomach. I can tell he isn't prepared for the blow, but it doesn't phase him. I knee him again. He looks irate and raises me farther into the air. _He's going to THROW me, _I realize. I wrap my legs around his torso before he can send me flying across the room. He changes his tactic. He slams me into the floor, falling on top of me. He pushes himself into a kneeling position as I try to untangle my legs from his body. The impact took my breath, and I know I can't keep this up much longer. Miller grabs my ankles. I kick and struggle, but he pins my legs to the floor with his knees. I know it's over now, but I won't stop fighting. He sends a punch my way and I slide my head to the side to dodge it. I lash out with both hands, clawing at his face and neck. This seems to further enrage him. He bats my hands away and throws a punch.

There is nothing I can do.

His fist bangs into my jaw, and the room spins. Dark spots form in my vision. I still struggle, but I can't see what Miller's doing. I can't prepare. He hits me again. I don't know how I stay conscious, but I do. He lets my legs go, and stands to his feet. I immediately roll to my side and curl my arms around my face. He kicks me in the ribs. He kicks me again. The kicks keep coming, and coming, and coming. I can't move or breathe. I am certain that I'm dying, and I wish I could hurry it up. Even after the kicking stops, I lie still for a few moments. Soon there are people swarming around me.

"Are you alright?" An alarmed trainer asks. I move my hands away from my face. I see two trainers looking worriedly at me. A girl in a red shirt is checking my pulse. I vaguely note that she is Miller's fellow representative from Texas. I see Sonia yelling at Miller, though I can't register what she says. Miller's arms are pinned behind him by an angry looking Logan Reinhart. I can see that Logan's eye is starting to darken with a bruise. I guess he got caught in the cross-fire. I notice with satisfaction that Miller has bloody marks on his neck where I scratched him.

Charles is soon there, too. He kneels beside me and takes my hand. I can see that he is more angry than Sonia. He glares at Miller, and watches the Texas girl suspiciously as she examines my body. She puts cool hands on my face, and I flinch away. She pats my shoulder soothingly and stretches my legs out. I immediately curl them back up. My sides hurt too badly to lie still. I writhe around on the floor and try to catch my breath. My face hurts, and I feel a distinct lump when I touch my jaw. My right eye throbs too. I can barely register the pain from these injuries because my sides hurt with every movement. Even shallow breathing causes a great deal of pain.

The girl from Texas tries to comfort me by smoothing my hair, but I barely acknowledge her. I squeeze Charles's hand and he squeezes back. Once I regain enough control to stop rolling around, I notice that all of the representatives are crowded around the chaotic scene. Some of them look at me with concern, and some seem very pleased that Miller is in trouble. The girl from Texas mimes something to the trainers. They scurry away. I manage to lay flat on my back, and I force myself to breathe through the pain. The trainers are soon back with a cup of ice and a small towel. The Texas girl scoops the ice into the towel and holds it on my face. It helps a little. The girl pulls my shirt up a bit, then pauses to see if I will allow her to continue. I nod. She exposes my midsection, though she is careful to avoid showing anything inappropriate. I don't lift my head up to see how my sides look, but Charles's reaction is enough for me to know it's pretty bad. The girl is completely calm. As she hovers over my abdomen, her security badge dangles in my face. I can read that her name is Eleanor Hoffberg. I wonder what she used to do before this happened to her. She must have been a nurse or a doctor because she seems well-versed in situations like this.

I notice that Sonia has taken Miller out of the room. Eleanor presses on my sides a little, but I slap her hands away when she presses too hard. She looks at me apologetically, and starts miming things to Charles. I notice that the crowd of representatives is still staring. I push myself into a half seated position, hoping they will go do something else if I show them I'm okay. Charles and Eleanor help me to sit up the rest of the way. The pain is so intense that I immediately want to lie down again. I force myself to continue. I pull on Charles's arm to ask him to help me stand. He looks at Eleanor, and she nods her assent. The two of them help me up, though I have to admit that they do most of the work. The other representatives and the trainers clap lightly in encouragement. If I wasn't in so much pain, I might feel gratitude toward them.

The door bangs open suddenly, and Elias storms into the room. He is followed quickly by Sonia, who looks flustered, and Marda, who looks hungover. Some other coaches step inside to collect their representatives. Sonia distractedly dismisses the class. When Elias reaches me, he immediately removes my muffler.

"Tell me exactly what happened," He says fiercely. He is breathing hard and seething with anger.

"I...um..." My head feels a bit clouded. I am tired and the pain is terrible. I can't seem to form any of the right words.

Elias's anger seems to fade instantly. "That's okay, hon, don't you worry about a thing," he says. "We're gonna get you all fixed up."

Eleanor's coach calls her from across the room. She pats my hand and gives Elias the towel full of ice. Marda and Sonia talk quietly near the exit doors. Elias and Charles support me as we move toward them. Now that the muffler is off, I whimper with every step. Sonia stops us before we leave. Her eyes are tense with worry.

"I am so sorry, Corenn," she says. "I never should have let you partner with him. I take full responsibility for this incident." She lowers her eyes to the floor and looks as if she has taken a few blows herself.

"It's okay," I mutter. Elias gives her a look that distinctly says "It's not okay." Marda gives Sonia a sympathetic pat on her shoulder.

In the hallway, Marda finally removes Charles's muffler. He recounts the story of my beating to Elias and Marda. In Charles's version, I was very brave and put up a good fight. I shake my head.

"That's not how it was," I say quietly. "He was just toying with me, and when he got tired of it, he ended it."

Charles seems to replay the incident in his mind. "I don't think so, Corenn," he says, but doesn't argue further.

"I can't believe Miller Hughes blatantly disregarded the rules like that!" Marda exclaims. "He could have killed you, and then where would he be? Probably disqualified from the Games!"

We all give Marda a disgusted look. We know Miller wouldn't have been disqualified. He likely would have been killed, and his family along with him. I am a little offended that Marda does not seemed bothered at all with the idea that _I_ might have been killed.

We make our way to the exit, but Elias stops us before we go outside.

"I hate to tell ya this," he begins, "But there's a whole herd of reporters with cameras out there. I don't know how they heard that somethin happened up here, but they did. Miller's already been out there doin interviews. You don't have to say nothin if you don't want to, though."

I close my eyes and try to breathe through the pain. I slowly move away from Elias and Charles, testing my walking abilities without their support. It hurts, but I can do it. My legs are mostly uninjured, but each step sends a jarring stab through my midsection. I make myself walk a few circles around the corridor. The group watches in silence. Other representatives and coaches stream out the doors. A few of them give me encouraging looks, but they aren't allowed to speak to me even with their mufflers off. Elias looks like he wants to come help me, but Charles looks distracted and thoughtful. Marda actually nods to me when I look at her. She seems to finally approve of something I'm doing. After a few minutes of this, I decide I'm ready.

"I don't want to talk to anyone," I say, "But I want them to see me walk away like I'm totally fine. I don't want my family to think I'm hurt bad."

Elias nods, but he doesn't seem to like my plan. I think he might decide to hoist me up and carry me out like a child, so I add, "Stay close to me in case I fall."

Elias comes to stand beside me, but Charles stays where he is.

"I want to talk to the reporters," Charles says.

I am completely confused, but Elias seems impressed. Marda does too.

"Oh, what a great idea Charles," Marda gushes. "You can tell them how you helped rescue Corenn-"

"No," Charles says firmly. "I want to tell them what Miller did to her. I want them to know what kind of person he is."

Marda looks sour. Elias shakes Charles's hand.

"You're a good kid," Elias says.

I shuffle over to Charles and give him the best hug I can manage, which is an awkward one-armed squeeze. We walk to the door, and I try to stand up straight. Marda starts fiddling with my hair. Soon she gives up and shakes her head.

"Is it really that bad?" I ask.

She takes the towel of ice from Elias. "You should probably keep this over your face," she says pointedly.

I do as she says. The ice helps with the pain anyway. Elias tells Charles and Marda that he is taking me to see a doctor, and that we will see them back at the house later. Then everyone waits for me to go outside. I force my mouth into a smile, though I'm sure it's weak.

"I'm ready," I say, and step out the doors.


	12. Chapter 12: Diagnosis

**A/N: Sorry it took so long for me to get this chapter up. I know it's a short one, but I'll try to update more soon! Thanks for the great feedback, it means so much!**

**Chapter 12: Diagnosis**

I walk through the mass of reporters outside. They swarm around me as soon as they figure out who I am. They shout my name and ask me questions, but I ignore them. I move as quickly as I can, though I have to stop and collect myself when one of the reporters accidentally elbows me in the ribs. Elias scolds him while I try to smile and accept the reporter's apology. I see that one of the cameras is stationed in front of Miller, and a giggly woman is asking him questions. I spot Logan Reinhart in front of another camera. He shoots angry looks at Miller as he speaks. Some of the reporters leave me alone when they realize that Charles wants to talk to them. I give a small wave and a sheepish smile to the cameras. I hope that my actions will let my family think that I am mostly unharmed and embarrassed by all of this attention.

Elias and I travel with the remaining reporters until they finally give up and go back to the training center. I immediately drop my pretenses. Elias grasps my arm and helps to keep me steady. I try to keep walking, but I am so slow that eventually Elias scoops me up and carries me. I cry out when his arms touch my sore spots, but he shifts to make me more comfortable. I lay my head against his chest and attempt to block out the constant stabs of pain. Soon we reach a small white building that is clearly a medical facility. When Elias pushes the door open with his foot, a balding man in a white coat rushes up to us.

"Is she conscious?" he asks in alarm.

I raise my head up, and he gives me a grim smile.

"Bring her back here," he tells Elias, and we head down a sterile white hallway. "I wasn't expecting anything like this, so we'll have to use the equipment I've set up for the victor."

I look at Elias in confusion.

"They've got a hospital set up back here to tend the victor when he or she comes out of the arena," Elias tells me. "Other than that, they're just set up for minor problems."

"Oh," I say. The doctor leads us through a set of double doors. "Does that mean you think something is majorly wrong?" I ask him. I think back to medical shows I've watched on tv. I hope I don't have internal bleeding or a brain hemorrhage or something.

"No, dear, of course not," the doctor says distractedly. He walks into a room and starts pulling items out of the cabinets. "I only want to do some x-rays and a few other tests."

I sigh and bury my head in Elias's chest. Soon I am laid on a table, and the doctor examines me. He pokes and prods while I cringe and yell at him. Then he does a series of x-rays. I have to stand in uncomfortable positions and try to be still. The doctor wants to do an x-ray on my leg because it's bruised where Miller knocked it out from under me. I insist that it's not necessary, and he reluctantly agrees.

When the doctor suggests an MRI, I start to get angry.

"I think if I had brain damage, you'd know by now," I say.

"Maybe so, but I think we should err on the side of caution," the doctor replies.

We look at Elias for the final decision.

I lay inside the MRI machine, seething with anger. I decide I am never speaking to Elias again. When the doctor asks me to try to be still, I finally lose my temper.

"If something is wrong with me, then why don't you just let me die!" I yell. "It will save me having to go in the arena and die on national television!"

"Alright, Corenn," the doctor begins, "I need you to calm down."

"CALM DOWN?" I retort. "Listen, Dr. Whatever-your-name-is, you need to get me out of this machine, RIGHT NOW."

"My name is Dr. Dawson," he replies firmly, "And if I were allowed to let you die now, I would gladly spare you the torment of going into the arena."

That shuts me up. I had never really considered that the people who were working to put the Hunger Games in motion might not agree with everything they did. I think back to Thaddeus Pumpernickel's frowning face as he read the prize package last night. I remember Sonia's downcast eyes after Miller beat me up. I know Elias would never condone the slaughter of innocent people.

"What will they do to you, Dr. Dawson?" I ask. "What will they do if you don't follow the rules?"

There is a moment of silence before he replies, "You aren't the only one who has to cooperate to protect her family."

I am stunned. I picture Dr. Dawson holding a newborn grandchild. I picture James standing beside a brother. I think of Sonia bossing around a herd of well-behaved children. I picture a kindly old woman who could be Elias's wife. My eyes well up with tears. I think that maybe I have the easy job in the Hunger Games. Once I'm dead, my family will be free. Dr. Dawson and Elias and all of the others will have to do this for years to come. They will have to watch 99 people get slaughtered for entertainment, and they will know that they did nothing to stop it. I hurt for them. I hurt for me.

And my sides hurt.

I am breathing much easier than I was an hour ago, but I still take shallow breaths to avoid the pain. I make myself lie perfectly still. Soon, I am free from the confines of the cramped machine. Elias helps me get up, and Dr. Dawson tells me he's done running tests. I am allowed to put my regular clothes back on, and Elias shows me to a room where we sit and wait. Eventually Dr. Dawson comes in.

"Well, the good news is, nothing is broken," he says.

I grimace. "What's the bad news?"

"You have some bruised ribs," he replies. "Unfortunately there is no quick fix for this sort of injury. Normally I would recommend rest and non-straining activities, but I'm sure you know that you won't be allowed such luxuries."

I nod. Dr. Dawson shows me my x-rays. He tells me that the worst of my injuries are on my left side, which is good, since I am right-handed. He thinks I should be able to train well enough with my dominant arm, and I should try to use my left side as little as possible. He gives Elias instructions on how often to apply ice to the injuries, and he gives me a bottle of over-the-counter pain reliever.

"I would prescribe you something better," he says apologetically, "But I'm not allowed to give representatives anything stronger. Luckily for you, I don't think the pain is going to be unbearable. It should subside to a dull soreness in a few days, but it will take 2-4 weeks for the injuries to fully heal."

An awkward silence descends on the room after that. We all know I don't have 2-4 weeks. Bruised ribs will probably be the least of my injuries after I've entered the arena.

Dr. Dawson clears his throat. "Honestly, Corenn, I thought your injuries would be much more severe when I heard what happened. You're a strong woman." He gives me a firm handshake. "I hope I see you again."

I give him a small smile. I know he means that he hopes I make it out of the arena, but we both know how unlikely that is. Elias and I thank Dr. Dawson and head back to our house. I can walk much better on the trip back, though I am far slower than usual. Elias doesn't seem to mind. He walks at my pace and makes small talk about the weather and what we might have for lunch.

In the middle of Elias's rambling, I blurt, "Did Alanton take your family into custody too?"

Elias doesn't seem surprised. I guess he knew I'd ask eventually.

"Well, my folks ain't in custody, exactly," he says. "The government just keeps up with where they live and such. So if I mess up, Alanton knows where to find them."

I shiver. "Do they understand?" I ask. "Do they know why you had to do this? Or do they think you support the idea of the Games?"

Elias shrugs. "I don't rightly know," he says. "I ain't heard from my granddaughter since her daddy's funeral 8 years ago."

"What about the rest of your family?" I say, "Do you talk to them?"

Elias looks at the ground. "Alicia - that's my granddaughter - she's pretty much all I've got left. Her and her two boys. Her daddy, Eddie, was my only son. We lost him in a car crash. My wife passed on about 3 years back. She took sick with pneumonia and them doctors just couldn't save her. She'd always been a real sickly type, especially after we lost Eddie."

I cross my arms and say nothing. Elias's story hurts me more than I can say. He's lost so much already, and now his last remaining family members are being threatened. He doesn't deserve all of this. I can't understand how someone as kind as Elias could get thrown into a mess like the Hunger Games.

"Why did you get chosen to be a coach?" I ask.

"I dunno," he replies thoughtfully. "I guess cause I was the best."

"The best?" I say. "The best at what?"

He looks me in the eye for the first time since we left Dr. Dawson's office.

"At surviving," he says.


	13. Chapter 13: Overwhelmed

**Chapter 13: Overwhelmed**

When we arrive back at the house, Elias opens the front door. The sound of Marda's shrill shouting comes from the second floor.

"AGAIN!" she yells. "TRY HARDER!"

I hear the sounds of movement and then a thud.

"AGAIN!" she screams.

I look at Elias with wide eyes. He breathes a heavy sigh.

"There's nothin I can do," he says. "Marda's a coach, just like me. She's allowed to train Charles however she likes."

Elias and I sit down at the big dining table. The leftovers from lunch are still there. It is a selection of breads, meats, cheeses, and condiments for sandwiches. I quickly throw something together, not even noticing which items I pick up. Elias pours way too many chips on my plate, and makes himself two ham sandwiches. I nibble at my bread while I listen to the commotion upstairs. Between Marda's yelling and the pain in my sides, I find that my appetite is pretty much nonexistent. I make myself eat half a sandwich and five chips before I tell Elias I'm finished. He gives me a concerned look.

"You've gotta eat more, Renn," he says. "Ya need to put on as much weight as ya can before the Games."

"I know, I know," I say with frustration. "Maybe I'll feel better by supper time."

"Alright," Elias agrees. "Now let's get some of this medicine in ya, and you can go on and get in bed for a nap."

"A nap?" I say with surprise. "Charles has to deal with _that_," I point upstairs, "And I get to take a nap? I'm not sure you understand this coaching thing Elias._"_

He laughs. "Maybe I'll go ask Marda how I'm supposed to do it," he teases.

I take two little pills, and Elias helps me up the stairs. I want to go check on Charles, but Elias thinks it would only make Marda angry. I don't want to make things worse, so I continue on to the third floor. Elias tells me to take a shower while he gets some ice packs ready for me to lay on.

In the bathroom, I strip off my clothes and examine my injuries for the first time. My left side looks awful. It is covered with dark purple splotches. I think I can make out the imprint of Miller's shoe in one of the bruises. My right side has one big purple mark, but otherwise seems fine. My left eye is dark and swollen. The left side of my jaw is a bit swollen and a little purple, but it's not as bruised as I thought it would be. I check my back, which is sore from the impact of Miller throwing me to the ground. It is completely unscathed. I find the bruise on my leg that Dr. Dawson commented on. It doesn't look serious at all. I shower and dress in some loose green pajamas. I see that Elias has turned down my bed and laid an ice pack wrapped in a towel on my nightstand. His kindness nearly brings me to tears. _I don't deserve a coach like him,_ I think. _Charles should've gotten Elias, and I should have gotten stuck with Marda. _I feel nauseous at the thought. I still hear Marda yelling at Charles downstairs. No matter what misfortunes Verilius Alanton has forced on me, I must admit that I am very lucky to have Elias.

I lie down and try to get comfortable. It takes about thirty seconds before I realize it's impossible. The ice pack helps my side a little, but not enough that I can fall asleep. I try every position I can think of, but soon I get out of bed. I walk down the hall of the autumn-themed floor, and I find Elias in the private training room. He has set up two human-sized dummies, and a large dry erase board. Elias sits in a chair in the center of the room, writing in a large notebook. He looks up when he sees me.

"Now, what are you doin out of bed?" he scolds. "I told you to get ya some rest. We'll talk about all of this later on." He gestures to the dummies and the marker board.

I shrug. "I can't get comfortable. Maybe once the pain medicine kicks in, I'll be able to sleep."

Elias thinks for a moment. "Alright, then," he says. "How 'bout we get ya back into bed, and I'll sit in there and talk about your training? That's sure to be boring enough to lull ya to sleep."

I agree with a laugh.

After Elias has fluffed my pillows and arranged my blankets several times, he declares me sufficiently tucked in. He hands me the large notebook that he was using in the training room, and pulls an armchair to the side of the bed.

"I'm writin all the things you need to know about the arena in this book," he says. "So you just read over it and start askin questions." He gets comfortable in his chair. "I know how you like to ask questions."

I stick my tongue out at him. I pick up the notebook and look at what Elias has written. It looks like chicken scratch. I can't read one word.

"Elias, my two-year-old son could have written this better," I say.

Elias takes the notebook and glances at it.

"There ain't a thing wrong with my writing," he declares. "_I_ know exactly what it says." He grins and sets the notebook aside. "Why don't I just tell ya about it?"

I nod and settle back in my fluffy pillows.

"Okay," he begins, "All of them gamemakers have been real cryptic about where the arena is going to be, but I've got a hunch. I think it's real close to where we are right now. I've gotten your schedule for the week, and it says that you go in the arena at 9:00 next Monday mornin. The funny thing is, they don't ask you to meet up with your stylist till 7:00. So within two hours, they expect you to get made up, get to the arena, and be ready to start. I'm thinkin that the arena can't be more than a thirty minute drive from here. The doctor's office today proved it to me. If they have the victor's hospital set up in this compound, then it's definitely not far from the arena." Elias smiles at me as if he has deduced something which will give me a great advantage.

"Well, that might be helpful," I say, "But I don't even know where we are now."

"Yeah, and I'm not allowed to tell ya," Elias says with frustration. "I _can_ tell ya what the terrain is like, though. It's mostly flat lands around here, so don't expect any hills to hide behind. There's not a lot of trees in this area either, but I'd bet my oldest pocket watch that there'll be plenty of trees in the arena. They've gotta give you someplace to hide. Now, we also know what the temperature will be like if the arena is near here. I've looked at the weather forecast, and it seems like things are gonna stay about the same as they are now. So it'll probably be cool at night. If the Games go on for a while, the weather may get colder. I'd bet there'll be a blanket in the supplies at the cornucopia."

"Wait, wait, wait," I say, holding my hands up. "What's a cornucopia? And what does it have to do with me getting a blanket?"

Elias smiles. "See, I knew you'd think of some questions."

Elias goes on to tell me that all of the representatives will be raised into the arena from an underground chamber. We will be arranged in a circle around a cornucopia, a large structure that houses our supplies and weapons. There will be a countdown, giving us one minute to decide what our first move will be.

"My first move will be to get Charles and run away," I say.

Elias grimaces. "I don't think that's gonna be possible," he says. "There are gonna be five different cornucopias, with twenty representatives startin at each one. I highly doubt that any representative will be startin at the same place as their state partner."

I feel dread settle on me again. The drama of the past day has kept my worry mostly at bay, but the realization that I will be alone in the arena brings the terror flooding back. Elias must see my emotions on my face.

"Now, now," he chides, "You'll still be able to find Charles. Maybe the two of ya can even form an alliance with some other folks."

"An alliance?" I ask. "How can we do that if we can't talk to anyone?"

"Them mufflers won't be on in the arena," Elias tells me. "But don't go teamin up with just anybody. You'll have to figure out who to trust."

I burrow around in my pillows, trying to find a position that doesn't hurt.

"Okay, so how do I get this blanket that you say will be at the cornucopia?" I ask.

"Well," Elias says, "You're gonna have to fight for it."

I sigh and roll my eyes. We spend the rest of the afternoon trying to figure out my strengths and weaknesses. Although I insist that I am not really good at anything, Elias seems to think I know a lot about plants.

"I only worked part time in a Botany lab," I say. "I got my degree in Wildlife Biology, not Botany."

"I bet you know more than you think," Elias says.

After much prying on Elias's part, he decides that I will probably be quite good at using stealth tactics. He thinks I will be able to run away from dire situations, and climb trees to avoid confrontations. He asks if I will be up to the challenge of fighting for supplies at the cornucopia. I tell him I am decidedly not up to it. He tells me that my first move should be to run as fast as I can and climb a tall tree. He says I should watch for everyone to disperse from the cornucopia, and then I should go back and scavenge for any leftover supplies.

"Remember," Elias tells me, "You want to make sure you have water, warmth, and weapons. The food will come. You'll find some plants to eat, and I'll teach ya how to catch your meat."

I try to remember everything Elias says, but the pounding in my sides combined with Marda's constant shouting keeps me very distracted. Eventually, I tell Elias that I've changed my mind, and I think I will have a nap. While Elias is fussing over my comfort and insisting that I have a drink of water, a door bangs open downstairs. I hear someone stomping, and James bursts angrily into the room.

"WHY didn't anyone call me?" He shouts, and then he sees me in the bed. "Oh, my darling, just look what he did to you!"

He rushes to my side and starts examining my face. "Don't worry about this," he says, "I can cover it all up with makeup."

I smile at him, trying not to let him see how little I've thought about my appearance. Elias explains the entire story to James, and I lay in bed with my eyes closed. James gets mad and sympathetic at all the right moments, and I try not to replay any of it. When I think of Miller's rage, it occurs to me that I have made a very powerful enemy. I'm not sure my stealth tactics are going to help me in a fight with him. Miller will kill me easily. I feel my eyes tearing up, but I still try to feign sleep.

I don't want to be murdered by Miller Hughes. I don't want to be murdered at all. But if it has to happen, then I want it to be someone else. _Anyone _else. He won't be killing to protect his family. He will do it for fun.

The horror and hopelessness of the situation overwhelms me, and I start to cry. I roll over and try to hide it, but soon I am sobbing loudly enough for Elias and James to hear. They immediately kneel beside me, both muttering soothing words. James strokes my hair and cries along with me. Elias holds my hand and pats it. Neither of them ask me what's wrong because they already know. I am mourning for the life I have lost. _This is why people aren't supposed to know when they're going to die_, I think. I have time to feel the loss of the years that might have been. I won't be there to watch Kade grow up. Thomas and I won't grow old together. I won't ever go to Hawaii or read _War and Peace_ or any of the other little things that I had planned. My life is over, but I am forced to stay in this aching body. I can't understand why this has happened to me, and I say so.

"Oh, honey, I don't know either!" James sobs. "It's so unfair!"

Elias says nothing, but I see his bottom lip tremble as he looks away. I try to compose myself, but I fail. I cry and cry until it starts making my sides hurt worse. Then I cry some more. Elias and James keep a silent vigil at my bedside, neither of them willing to leave me in this state. I don't know how long I cry, but eventually Charles comes in to tell us it's almost time for supper and the daily security check. He looks so tired that I can't believe he managed to drag himself up the stairs.

I try to sit up, but Elias puts a hand on my shoulder.

"You just lie here and rest," he says softly. "I'll get that security man to come up here, and I'll bring your supper."

I lay back down. James gives me a tissue and I wipe my nose. He stays with me until Elias comes back with the very unhappy security man.

"I expect you to meet me at the door tomorrow," the man says as he scans my badge. "I won't come up here again."

I quickly nod. When the security man is gone, James excuses himself and Elias heads downstairs to get some food. I pull myself out of bed and into the bathroom. I wash my face and blow my nose, refusing to look in any of the mirrors. Elias returns with way too much food, and I muster up a smile. He seems relieved that my emotional roller-coaster has ended. He hands me a big bowl of soup and a hunk of bread.

"There's more where that came from," he says. "Eat as much as ya want."

Elias leaves, but returns shortly with his own soup bowl. He sits in the chair beside my bed and eats in silence. I manage to eat all of the soup and most of the bread. I'm so full that my sides feel worse, but I'm in a much better mood. Elias finishes my bread, and nods approvingly at my empty bowl.

Charles comes in carrying three small plates of chocolate cake. He hands one to each of us, and sits down beside me on the bed.

"Tough day?" he asks with a teasing smile.

"It sounded like yours was just as bad," I say.

"Maybe," he replies. "It wouldn't be very manly to complain about it, though, since I spent most of the afternoon getting beat up by a girl."

I giggle. "Did Marda use her shoes as a weapon?"

Charles takes a bite of cake. "No, but her hair nearly suffocated me a couple of times."

Elias nearly chokes on his cake while he attempts to keep from laughing. I smile in silence as Charles continues to crack jokes. He doesn't ask how bad my injuries are, and I doubt he ever will. It doesn't matter how damaged I am, Charles is on my side. I promise myself that I will find him in the arena. I don't know about forming alliances with any of the others, but I can trust Charles. We will be stronger together.

And neither of us will have to die alone.


	14. Chapter 14: Shadow

**Chapter 14: Shadow**

When we finish our cake, I decide that I feel well enough to go downstairs. Charles and Elias try to get me to stay in bed, but I insist that I can't take another minute of being an invalid. Eventually they follow me down, though they won't let me carry my dirty dishes. I find Marda at the dining table, picking at her slice of cake. I feel a pang of guilt that she had to eat down here alone.

"Well, look who decided to get out of bed," she says harshly. "I suppose the damsel was just too tired to train this afternoon?"

My guilt evaporates. I open my mouth, but Elias puts a hand on my shoulder.

"_I_ make the training decisions," he says firmly to Marda, "and _I_ decided to give her the afternoon off."

"Whatever you say," Marda replies with a fake smile. "I guess you think the arena is the best time for her to learn some survival skills."

"She's learned more survival skills than I have!" Charles blurts, seeming surprised that he has spoken. "I mean," he continues softly, "She defended herself against a _real_ attack."

"Not very well, apparently," Marda mutters.

I have had enough. "Why don't we get you some champagne, Marda?" I say sweetly. "We all liked you much better when you were drunk. You probably shouldn't try to sleep with Elias, though. Ugly isn't really his type."

With that, I turn and stomp into the living room. Elias and Charles follow me. I sit down on the couch and cross my arms. Elias turns on the tv, and Charles takes a seat beside me. I am too angry to pay attention to the screen, but I stare at it anyway. I can't understand why Marda hates me so much. I've never been mean to her. Before tonight anyway. As I sit and sulk, I start to wonder if I went too far with my insult. Then I think back to all of the mean things she's said to me. I decide that she deserved every word.

A picture of Miller Hughes appears on the screen, and my attention jerks to the tv. I had hoped the talk of my assault would die down by tonight, but I am not so lucky. A picture of me flashes up. It must have been taken at the exact moment the reporter elbowed me in the side. My face is contorted with pain, and I am stooped over. One of my hands is on my left side, and the other is supposed to be holding the cold towel over my face. My hand must have slipped because my swollen eye is exposed to the camera.

I groan. "My mom will probably make herself sick worrying about this!"

Charles gives me a small smile. "It's not like she wasn't worrying before."

His comment actually makes me feel a little better. Kevin or Richard -I can't tell them apart- comes on the screen. He announces that I have been examined by a medical professional and I have no serious injuries. He says that I did not wish to make a statement about the incident, but Miller Hughes performed numerous interviews.

One of Miller's interviews is shown. He arrogantly assures everyone that he's fine, and that I only gave him a scratch. He tells the reporter that our fight was "all in good fun" and that he wasn't trying to hurt me. He adds that I'm not very talented at dodging, and he laughs about my bruises. He says I'll be "good as new" by the time we enter the arena.

I roll my eyes and Charles clinches his fists. Luckily, Kevin-or-Richard doesn't seem very impressed with Miller's attempt to trivialize the event. He remarks that my injuries may not be severe, but I will likely still be hindered by them in the arena. He moves on to a different interview clip.

This one shows Logan Reinhart with a fresh shiner over his right eye. He looks at the camera angrily.

"He went after her without a warning even though the trainer told us not to hurt each other," he says. "The girl didn't even have a chance to prepare. She fought hard, though. Most people would've been down in a second. Once I noticed what was happening, I ran over and pulled him off of her. That's when he gave me this," he points at his eye. "I think he would've started fighting me, too, if the trainer hadn't come along."

I turn to Charles in shock.

"HE pulled Miller off?" I ask. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Charles shrugs. "I thought you knew."

The tv switches to Charles's face. He stands nervously next to a reporter and shifts from foot to foot.

"I...uh..." he begins. "I just wanted people to know that Corenn didn't ask for any of this. She didn't do anything to set Miller off. It's like he just lost control." He swallows and wipes his forehead. "I know he probably has a lot of sponsors..." Charles trails off, but he seems to find his courage. He looks much more confident as he continues, "His sponsors should know that he mercilessly beat an innocent person. Corenn is strong enough to get up and walk out of there after what he did. That takes more strength and bravery than trying to kill someone. I think the sponsors should take that into account. They shouldn't just think about who is good enough to win the Games, they should consider sponsoring someone who deserves it."

I grab Charles's hand and squeeze. I feel my eyes tearing up, but I really don't want to get the crying started again. I swallow the lump in my throat and muster a croaked "thank you." Charles gives me a quick smile. Elias is grinning from ear to ear.

"That's gonna bode real well for both of ya," he says. "You said everything just right. I'm real proud."

Charles blushes and focuses on the tv, embarrassed by the attention. Within minutes, it becomes obvious that my assault is going to dominate tonight's broadcast. I decide to go to bed. My sides have calmed to a constant ache, and I think I might be able to rest a little. I say good night to Charles and Elias and take another dose of my pain medication. When I reach my room, I turn out the lights and crawl awkwardly into bed. Once again, I have a hard time getting comfortable. I shift and turn for a while. Eventually I find a position where nothing hurts.

Except breathing.

I close my eyes and focus on comforting thoughts, like the smell of Kade's hair after a bath, and the lullaby my dad used to sing to me when I was little. I am starting to doze off when I hear a loud clunk. My eyes pop open and I sit up quickly. Stabs of pain come from all over my body, but I ignore them. I think the sound came from my window. I sit perfectly still and wait.

_Clunk._

It's definitely coming from the window. I roll out of bed and creep across the room. When I reach the window, I press myself against the wall and move the curtain just enough to take a peek outside. I see nothing. Then, something hits the window with another loud thunk. I peek out farther and see the house next door. The lights are off there, but I can see that a small lamp is on in the room directly across from me. The lamp sits beside the window and gives off just enough light for me to make out a large sheet of paper. The words "ARE YOU MISSISSIPPI?" are written in a neat scrawl.

I let the curtain fall.

_What is going on?_ I ask myself. I have no idea who is sending me this message, but I know it must be a representative. I also know that it isn't Charles, which means I am not allowed to talk to whoever it is. The person must have deduced that this is the Mississippi house. I don't know what they could possible want with me or Charles. I try to make myself ignore the questions. I know what happens when I get curious.

I do something stupid.

I grab Elias's notebook that he left in my room earlier. I stumble down the hall and take a dry erase marker from the board in the training room. I sit on my bed and take a deep breath. I write "YES" hastily across a page, and light my bedside lamp. I pull the curtain back, displaying my message to the room next door.

A shadow hovers at the window, and then the first message disappears. Soon the paper is back. Now it says, "BOY OR GIRL?" in the same neat lettering.

I sigh. I guess I might as well go along with it now. I write "GIRL" and hold up my notebook. The shadow takes the paper away again. When it reappears, it says "Corenn, right? Are U OK?"

I gnaw on the marker cap. I guess this is just another drawback to getting beat up. Now that my misfortune was advertised on national television, every representative will know me. And I still won't know anyone. I write, "I'm fine. Who are you?" and put my sign in the light.

The shadow takes the paper, quickly scrawls something, and puts it back. I drop my sign and spit out the marker cap.

The paper says "Logan".

I try to tell myself that there could very easily be more than one representative named Logan, but pieces start to click together in my mind. The building next door is gray. Every time I've seen Logan Reinhart, he's been wearing a piece of gray clothing. That could be just a coincidence. Gray is a pretty common color. Then I think of the horses painted on the gray building.

Horses.

The Kentucky Derby.

I stomp my feet in frustration. I should have noticed this before. I've been sleeping next door to one of the biggest threats in the Games, and now we're making illegal conversation. This is not a good idea. Not good at all.

Logan's shadow shifts uncomfortably in the window. He takes his sign away. When he puts it back, it says, "Logan Reinhart from Kentucky."

I laugh despite my anxiety. I guess he thought I was too dumb to figure out who he was with just a first name. I have no idea what to write on my paper in reply. It's clear that he expects me to write something. I see the shadow sitting and watching patiently. I think of the interview Logan performed earlier today, and I remember the bruise on his eye. I also remember the nice things he said about me, and the revelation that it was Logan who saved me from Miller. I decide that he might not be a bad person, even if he is a serious threat.

I write, "Nice to meet you. How's your eye?" and hold my notebook in the light.

Logan writes, "Fine. I should have hit him back."

I laugh quietly. "I'm sure you'll get another chance," I write.

"Maybe," says Logan's sign.

I sit and try to think of something else to write, but I can't come up with anything. Eventually I choose, "Thanks for checking on me."

"You're welcome," He writes.

With that, I get up and click my lamp off. I rip out all of the pages I used in Elias's notebook, and I throw them in the bathroom trashcan. I don't think Elias would approve of me fraternizing with the enemy like this. _Or maybe he would, _I think. _Maybe Logan is one of the people Elias would like Charles and I to form an alliance with. _I don't know how I feel about that. I am reminded of the words Elias said earlier.

_You'll have to figure out who to trust._

I climb back into bed and find that the medicine has made the pain in my side bearable. As I curl up and close my eyes, one thought floats through my mind.

I'm still not sure I can trust Logan Reinhart.


	15. Chapter 15: Specialty

**Chapter 15: Specialty**

The next morning, Elias doesn't knock on my door. He walks in with a glass of water and two pain pills. I wake up and sluggishly try to roll over, but everything hurts. Elias helps me sit up slowly, and I take the pills. The pain is so much worse than it was last night. Elias says it's just soreness, and he helps me do some stretches. The stretching helps, but I still can't make myself get out of bed. Elias tells me I can stay where I am until the medicine starts working. He leaves the room and goes downstairs.

I make a few attempts to get up, and I think I could if I really wanted to. Instead I decide to bury my head under the covers and hope no one ever finds me. Training today is sure to be a nightmare. I hate to admit it, but I'm terrified to go back and face Miller again. A few minutes pass, and Elias comes back in the room. He must think I've gone to sleep again because I hear him set something down and move to the door. I peek out of the covers and see that he's left me a plate of muffins. I stick my arm out and grab one, quickly retreating back into my tent of blankets. After one bite I realize that this is by far the best muffin I've ever had. I gobble it up and reach for another one.

By the time Elias comes back, I've finished off the last muffin and I'm licking the crumbs from my fingers.

"They were good, weren't they?" Elias says. "Marda only let me have two, but boy that woman can cook!"

I abruptly pull my finger from my mouth. "_Marda _made the muffins?" I scrub the remaining crumbs off on the bedspread. I wonder if she's mad enough to poison me.

"Don't worry, she gave some to Charles too," Elias says with a laugh. "We're probably safe." He sits down on the edge of my bed and says seriously, "I think this was her way of apologizin to ya."

"Apologizing?" I say incredulously. "She hates me. There's no way she wants to apologize."

Elias pats my leg softly. Surprisingly, that's one spot that isn't sore.

"She's a strange one, I won't deny that," he begins, "But I don't think she hates ya. I think she wants me to push ya harder, and train ya better. She's tryin to be tough enough for the both of us, I guess."

My eyebrows knot in confusion. "That can't be it. She's always really nice to Charles when she's not working him to death. She's tough on me all the time."

Elias looks at me, clearly baffled. "You don't see it do ya?"

"See what?" I say.

"She's tougher on ya because she thinks ya can win."

My mouth falls open. I can't think of a reply. Elias gets up and walks to the door.

"Ya better start gettin ready," he says. "We have to leave in fifteen minutes."

I slowly roll out of bed. I go into the bathroom, still stunned by Elias's words. _Marda_ thinks I can win. The woman must be nuts. Or maybe Elias was just trying to make me feel better. That's probably it.

I decide to forego a shower, since I will spend the morning sweating. I brush my hair and put it into a tight ponytail. I don't put on any makeup. It wouldn't help anyway. My eye is still swollen and purple. I dress slowly. I find that the soreness eases as I move around more. I put on a green t-shirt and gray sweatpants. The color gray reminds me of my conversation with Logan last night. I wonder if he'll act any different at training today. I really hope not.

By the time I get downstairs, I feel much more loosened up. I can move everything freely, except for my left side. I keep my left arm tucked close to my body. It makes the pain almost disappear. When I reach the kitchen, Elias is sitting at the table, stuffing a muffin in his mouth. When he sees me, he abruptly swallows.

"Don't tell Marda," he says.

I grin and nod.

We walk quickly to the training building, and someone puts a muffler on me. Elias walks to the door of the big training room, and stops me before I go inside.

"I don't think you'll have to worry about Miller today," he says. "Sonia is gonna be much more cautious."

I slowly nod. I wonder if Elias remembers that he said almost the same thing to me yesterday. Look how that turned out. I take a deep breath and walk into the room.

I am one of the last to arrive. The room is arranged differently today. There are stations set up on each end of the room. All the representatives are crowded awkwardly in the center of the floor. I spot Charles standing beside a girl in pale pink. I approach him, and he looks extremely relieved. I pat him on the back in greeting. He reaches out to pat me, but seems to think better of it. He just gives me a small wave.

While we stand and wait, I notice that Miller is leaning casually against one of the mirrored walls. Everyone is giving him a wide birth, but he doesn't seem to notice. I spot Logan standing next to his state partner. She sits on the floor with her knees curled up. Logan glances at her anxiously. She doesn't acknowledge him, but I get the impression that he is worried about her. While I watch him, he briefly looks up and makes eye contact with me. I quickly look away.

I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn to see Eleanor Hoffberg. She gestures at my left side and grabs the bottom of my shirt. Then she pauses, waiting for my permission. I nod to her, and she lifts my shirt up enough to see the bruises. Her examination only takes a few seconds, but when she lowers my shirt I notice some of the other representatives looking at me with wide eyes. I immediately regret exposing my injuries. Now the others know I have a pretty serious disadvantage. I sigh. I suppose they knew already. They all watched me get pummeled, after all. Eleanor seems satisfied with whatever she saw. She gives my shoulder a squeeze, and she walks away. She must have wanted to check on me because she doesn't trust any doctor that was hired by Verilius Alanton. I wonder if Eleanor can win the Games. She did well in training yesterday, and she obviously knows a thing or two about treating injuries. Maybe she could find a way to beat Miller. I hope so. I wonder if Charles and I could persuade Eleanor to be in our alliance. We would have a much better shot with her on our side.

Sonia interrupts my train of thought by clapping her hands. I notice that she looks very tired. I worry that she may have been punished for what happened yesterday.

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen," Sonia begins. "Today we will start your weapons training. Numerous types of weapons may be found in the arena, and being proficient with one of them could give you a great advantage. We have arranged stations for you to try out an array of different weapons and fighting strategies. On one side of the room, we have ranged weapons, and on the other side we have melee weapons. A trainer is assigned to each station, and he or she will impart any knowledge that they possess on the use of each weapon. I ask that you split into groups. You and your state partner should pick one other state to attend the stations with. Each group of four will rotate through the stations over the course of the next two days. You will have one hour for each station, and one hour at the end of each day to return to a station that you wish to practice further. Good luck."

I immediately step closer to Charles, relieved that I will be allowed to partner with him today. I glance around the room to try and find another state's representatives to work with. I see Logan stride purposefully across the room until he stands directly in front of Miller. Miller raises his eyebrows, and Logan crosses his arms. The tension in the exchange is clear. Eleanor slowly strides up to them. She stares for a moment, but neither of the men make a move. She shrugs her shoulders and goes to help Logan's partner off the floor.

Charles pulls my sleeve, and I drag my eyes away from the scene. I follow Charles to a slender man and a rather large woman. They both wear a bright teal color. When we approach them, they seem relieved. I guess Charles and I aren't very threatening. The woman reaches for Charles's security badge and reads it. I guess she is learning his name. She doesn't look at my badge. Neither does the man. He gives me a polite nod. I glance at the woman's badge long enough to find out that we are partnering with Tennessee.

The man from Tennessee takes the lead. We follow him to one side of the room and he picks a station. The trainer greets us and immediately cuts to the chase. She hands us each a bow and shows us how to hold it correctly. Then we learn how to nock an arrow. We are no more than five minutes into the lesson when I realize that I am not going to be very good with a bow. Pulling back the arrow sends an excruciating pain down my side, so I can't pull it far or aim for long. The trainer has set up targets with bulls-eyes for us to practice with. My arrows never make it to the target. The man from Tennessee is pretty good. I guess that's why he wanted to start here. The woman is a bit better than me, but not much. Charles catches on quickly. By the end of the hour he can hit the target every time. He even hits the bullseye once.

Our next station is knife throwing. I am slightly better at this than I was at the bow, but I still can't hit the target very often. Charles has trouble at this station, too. By the end of the second hour, we are both frustrated. It has become very apparent that we aren't good enough to contend with anyone who can use these weapons well. My sides are hurting, but I can't use that as an excuse. I know I wouldn't be much better without my injuries.

The next station is a combination of throwing weapons. There are tomahawks, maces, and throwing stars. For this station, the trainer has set up human shaped dummies for us to aim at. We start with the throwing stars. I am hopeless. I never hit my dummy. I don't even come close. The Tennessee woman manages to lodge her star in the dummy's abdomen, and she jumps up and down with glee. Her partner gives her a hug. I feel completely hopeless. I am getting more anxious with every passing second. I am angry at myself for being totally inept, but my true concern is that I can't fail at this. I _can't._ My life depends on it.

Soon the trainer moves on to the mace. He shows us how to hold it, and how to throw it. The mace is much heavier than the knives and the stars, so I immediately know that I will be terrible with it. My anger takes over then. I clinch the mace and throw it with all of my might, using it as an outlet for my frustration. I watch it fly through the air, and then it lands with a loud _thunk._

Right in the center of the dummy's head.

For a moment, I just stare at it in bewilderment. Charles raises his hand for a high five, and I numbly touch my hand to his. The trainer claps for me, and goes to retrieve the mace. When he hands it back to me, I look down at it. The handle is made of metal, and it's still warm from where I gripped it before. On the end of the handle sits a ball flecked with a myriad of frightening spikes. I don't have to touch the spikes to know they're sharp. I picture the mace being used in combat, and I can't think of a messier, more brutal way to kill someone. Somehow, the mace feels comfortable in my hand despite my morbid thoughts. I switch it from one hand to another, trying to prepare for my next throw. I take a few deep breaths and keep my eyes on the dummy I'm supposed to hit. I raise my arm and throw.

I hit the dummy again.

The trainer is giddy now. So is Charles. He grabs me in a tight hug, and I try to cope with the pain until he lets go. As soon as he sees my face, he remembers my injuries and starts making apologetic motions. The Tennessee man and woman look warily at me. I feel a slight twinge of satisfaction. _They realize they underestimated me,_ I think. Then I remember my serious failures with the other weapons. _Don't get cocky yet, Corenn. You've only hit the target twice._

The trainer hands me the mace, and moves my target back farther than everyone else's. He teaches me how to stand so I can put more strength behind my throw. I aim and throw again. I hit the dummy on the chest. The trainer seems thrilled, so I don't tell him that I was aiming for the dummy's head. The harder I throw, the worse it hurts my sides. The trainer gives me a few more pointers before we have to switch to the tomahawks. I am not as good with the small axe as I was with the mace, but I am better than the rest of my group. Charles isn't terrible either. He lodges at least three of his tosses in the dummy's head.

The next station is spear throwing. Charles does a very good job, while I strain to throw straight. I can't understand why this is more difficult than the maces and axes. Maybe it's something to do with the weight of the weapons. Whatever it is, it gets me frustrated again.

When Sonia tells us to return to a station of our choice for the last hour, I immediately drop my spear and go back to the mace station. Charles stays to practice with the spear some more. The man from Tennessee goes back to the bow station, and the woman comes with me to practice with the throwing stars. Two other men join us, but both of them choose tomahawks to throw. I have the maces all to myself. I throw again and again, while the trainer teaches me different techniques. On my down time, while the trainer is going to retrieve the thrown weapons, I study the other stations. I watch Charles throw several spears. He is still performing well, but another guy is doing much better. A few girls have joined them, but they are not nearly as good as Charles.

I notice the man from Tennessee standing with Logan Reinhart at the bow station. I watch Logan shoot, and I gasp.

He is excellent.

The arrows seem to flow effortlessly from the bow in his hand. They hit the bullseye every time. It is obvious that he has spent considerable time using a bow before today. I continue to glance around the room, and I see that Miller has chosen to work at the sword station. He is busily trading blows with a trainer using a practice sword. The trainer looks very nervous. I don't blame him.

When my trainer returns with the maces, I start throwing again. I throw and throw and throw. When Sonia dismisses us, I put the maces down carefully. I feel almost naked without a weapon in my hand. I guess this is just another side effect of being forced to fight to the death - feeling comfortable with an object that will help me kill people. The thought makes my stomach queasy. I meet up with Charles, and we walk together to the door. Marda and Elias are waiting for us near the exit. They escort us outside before they take off our mufflers.

"Well, how was it?" Elias asks.

Charles smiles.

"It was much better than yesterday," He says.

On our way back to the house, we recount the morning to our coaches.

"First we went to the bow station," I say.

"Corenn was terrible at that," Charles teases. I push him off the sidewalk.

"Maybe we should talk about the knife throwing station," I say, smirking at Charles. "We were equally terrible there."

Elias chuckles at our banter, and I can tell that Marda is trying hard to tolerate our casual chatter. Unfortunately, her patience runs out quickly.

"Is there anything the two of you were actually good at?" She asks.

"Oh," Charles says, startled out of his good mood. "Um...Corenn was really good with the mace," He says in a more serious tone.

"A mace?" Elias says thoughtfully. "I never woulda thought that would be your specialty."

"Charles did really well with spears," I say. "He was actually pretty good with the bow, too. And he wasn't bad with the tomahawks..." I trail off. Suddenly my success with the mace doesn't seem that great.

"That's wonderful, Charles!" Marda exclaims. "The more versatile you are, the better your chances will be."

I don't say much for the rest of our walk. When we reach the house, a light lunch is laid out for us. Marda talks about Charles's training through the entire meal. When we're finished, Elias tells me to take another dose of my pain relievers.

"I can't let ya sit out today," he says apologetically.

When we go upstairs, Elias asks me about each of the weapon stations. He wonders if I will be any better with the bow after my injuries heal.

"It sounds like your problem is the pain," he says. "We might train a little on it anyway. Just in case."

I tell him about the mace, and how it felt like an extension of my arm by the end of the day. He laughs.

"I've gotta say, I'm curious to see ya throw it," he says. "Let me go see if Marda brought a mace for Charles to practice with."

When he leaves, I move the dummies Elias has set up. I arrange them so I will have room to throw, but I put them a little farther away than they were at the training center. I try to tell myself I do it because I want to improve, but I know it's really because I want to impress Elias.

Elias comes back bearing a similar mace to the one I used this morning. He hands it to me, and I do a few practice swings to get used to the weight of it. Elias watches me intently, but says nothing.

"What is it?" I ask him. "Am I doing something wrong?"

"Oh, no, hon," He replies quickly. "I'm just surprised is all."

I laugh. "Why? Because I'm decent with a weapon? Don't worry, I'm surprised too."

Elias smiles but still studies me.

"It ain't that," he says. "I figured you'd find somethin you were good at. I'm just shocked that it's a mace."

"What's wrong with a mace?" I ask.

"Nothin at all," Elias says. "I just think a weapon tends to suit a person. For instance, I can guarantee that Miller Hughes used a heavy weapon during his practice time. A sword or a battle axe. That fits him. Am I right?" He waits for my confirmation and continues, "I knew Charles would pick a ranged weapon. He's not the type for face-to-face combat. He's more tactical. That spear is good for him. I just don't see how a mace fits you. Maybe there's a side to you I haven't seen yet."

I look at the mace in my hands. I'm not sure how it suits me, but it does. I know tomorrow we will have to attend the melee weapon stations, but I'm positive that I have already found my best weapon. The mace has given me more confidence than I've had since the reaping. I feel like I can prolong my survival, and hopefully Charles's too. I still doubt that we can win, but we won't be an embarrassment to our state. That's really all I can hope for now. I hold the mace ready at my side, and I look at Elias. I can't help but think that he's a little disappointed in my weapon choice. He paces the room in a thoughtful trance, never taking his eyes away from me. I stand completely still, gripping the mace and watching him. I know he will tell me what's on his mind when he's ready.

After a few minutes, Elias stops walking. He looks almost wistful.

"Ya know, Renn," he says softly. "I think it suits ya perfectly."

He doesn't seem at all happy about it, but I feel relieved. I was worried that he would ask me to change weapons.

"Let's see what ya can do," Elias says, still in his dreary mood.

I hop up and down a few times while I stare at one of the dummies. I spread my feet into one of the stances the trainer taught me. I take a deep breath and prepare myself. Then I throw.

The mace lodges in the dummy's head, just like I'd intended. I grin and look at Elias. His reaction is not what I expected. He still looks sad and concerned. When he sees my face, he perks up and smiles.

"That was a darn good throw," he says. He walks to the dummy and pulls the mace out. "I'm not real familiar with mace throwin. I've never had much practice with it. I'll try and teach ya a few things, but eventually you're gonna have to work with Marda."

"Marda!" I exclaim. "Why?"

Elias brings the mace back to me. "She's good at throwin axes. I think she'd be better suited to teach ya about this than I would."

I bite my lip. This is not a happy turn of events. I really don't want to work with Marda on anything. It would be awkward after the things I said last night, and I doubt she'd give me any breaks no matter how much pain I was in. Elias goes to a closet in the back of the room. He rummages around while I stand and ponder the misery of training with Marda.

He comes out carrying a soft leather case. He places it gently on the floor and opens it, exposing a collection of knives. Some look like the knives I threw today, but most of them are larger and heavier.

"What's this?" I ask, walking over to kneel beside Elias. He takes out one of the larger knives and stands up.

"This is my specialty," Elias says, gesturing to the knives. "Well, knives and guns. That's all I needed as a Navy Seal."

"A _Navy Seal?_" I say. Elias laughs. I know my mouth is gaping, but I don't bother to close it.

"Are ya surprised?" asks Elias. "How else did ya figure I learned about fightin? I was in the military for thirty years."

I pace around the room, trying to wipe the shock off my face. I guess this revelation explains a lot, but I still can't picture Elias in a military uniform. I can't picture him killing people either, but I guess he probably has. As I ponder this, a random thought occurs to me.

"Elias, why wasn't there a gun training station today?"

Elias frowns. "There ain't gonna be no guns in the arena. The Games would be over too fast for the President's liking. It's too bad, though. I could really teach ya some stuff about guns."

I look down at the knife in Elias's hand. "What are you gonna teach me to do with that?"

"Oh," Elias says, seemingly forgetting that he held the knife. "I'm gonna teach ya to use that mace as a melee weapon. I'll use my knife to practice with ya."

For the rest of the day, Elias shows me how to hold and swing my mace in a close combat situation. He shows me some example moves with his knife. He is incredibly strong and agile for a man his age. In my injured state, I can hardly keep up with him.

When we practice fighting, Elias and I face each other, weapons at the ready. We are both crouched slightly. I hold my mace and stare at Elias, waiting for him to make a move. He holds his knife with the blade pointed backwards. The sharp end sits under his wrist. His stance and the look on his face make me see something sinister in him for the first time. I understand what he means about a weapon suiting a person. His knife _belongs _to him. I can definitely picture him killing people now.

Our fights don't take long. Elias always has me incapacitated in seconds. I don't try as hard as I can because I don't want to hurt my sides. Elias tells me I'm doing wonderful, even though I lose every time. I get a little frustrated with my failure, and I tell him so.

"Renn, you've never held a weapon in your life before today. You can't expect too much out of yourself," he says.

"Elias, in five days I'm going to be dropped into a death trap!" I yell. "I have to be good at this! I HAVE to!"

"Alright, alright," Elias say, holding up his hands to calm me. "I know this is serious. If ya don't mind me saying so...I don't think you're doin your best. I'm tryin not to hurt ya, and you're tryin not to get hurt worse. I think we're both gonna have to let that go. Nobody is gonna take pity on ya in the arena, so I guess we ought to practice with that in mind."

I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths. I know he's right. I'm going to have to fight hard, and keep fighting no matter how bad it hurts. I will do that in the arena, and I should do it now. If I don't practice hard, and I don't learn everything I can, then I've already let Miller win. He hasn't beaten me yet.

I still have a chance.

I open my eyes and nod to Elias.

"Let's do this."


	16. Chapter 16: Judged

**Chapter 16: Judged**

The next morning, I hurt worse than I did yesterday. I remember my long practice with Elias, and I think maybe I should hurt worse than I do. Yesterday we sparred until dinner, and after eating we sparred again until bedtime. After I gave up on my attempts to practice without hurting myself, I really did learn more. By the time Elias dismissed me for bed, I had won against him twice. _It was probably because he was tired, _I think.

When I'm out of bed and ready for the day, we head to the training center. Everyone knows what we're supposed to do today, so the representatives don't seem as nervous. Charles and I stand near the Tennessee man and woman, but they don't acknowledge us. When Sonia tells us to team up, they glance at us and head over to the sword station. I look at Charles. He shrugs and follows them.

I don't like swords at all. I can barely pick up the big greatsword so I end up practicing with a short sword. I swing it around for a while with a trainer who tries to give me pointers. We move on to a station with hammers and clubs. I pick a small, lightweight club that feels similar to my mace. I'm better with this, and the trainer seems impressed. The next station is the battle axe. It is a huge, heavy piece of equipment. I struggle just to lift it, so there's no way for me to use it with any precision. The trainer seems to expect this, so he lets me stand and go through the motions clumsily. Charles is able to wield the axe effectively, so the trainer spends most of the time with him. The Tennessee representatives and I try to practice with each other, but I feel more like we're playing golf than waging war. I watch Logan Reinhart throw a spear and miss by a mile. I smile. At least he isn't good at everything. Miller stands beside him, throwing spears expertly.

I bet Miller _is _good at everything.

Our next station is combat knives. I pick up my knife and hold it like Elias had in our training session the day before. The trainer seems to think this foreshadows some kind of expertise on my part. I'm sure she is disappointed. I can hold my own, but I am certainly not a prodigy.

Sonia tells us to repeat a station of our choice, so I rush over to the mace station. The trainer greets me like I'm his star student, and it looks like I am. Once again, no one else chooses to come back to the maces. Two girls come practice with the throwing stars, and the girl from North Carolina stands beside me to throw tomahawks. She is pretty good, but I can tell she resents that my throws are better than hers. She twirls her gorgeous blond locks around her finger when she sees me make a particularly difficult throw. I guess that's her way of expressing frustration.

After training, we head back to the house and have lunch. Then Elias takes me upstairs where we resume our practice from the night before. We spend hours knocking each other to the ground while Elias tells me his best tips and tricks. After dinner, he sends me to work with Marda. It isn't as terrible as I thought it would be. She doesn't talk much, and thankfully she doesn't yell at me. She even offers some praise when I use her advice to make a throw. I must admit, she helps me a lot. Charles shows me what he can do with his spear after practicing with Marda. He's very good. I feel a small amount of hope blossoming. I try to stamp it out, but I can't. If we can find each other in the arena, we might have a shot at beating Miller. Then I remember that two of us can't win. If it comes down to Charles and I, one of us will have to kill the other.

There goes my hope.

The next day of training focuses on survival skills. The weapon stations have been changed to skill stations. I learn how to build fires and set traps and find water. I am shown endless pictures of edible plants, and how to discern them from poisonous ones. I am taught how to skin and prepare animals for cooking. Our lessons seem to be endless. In the afternoon, Elias teaches me how to rig a very easy snare for rabbits and squirrels. Marda shows me how to make a fish hook out of items I am likely to have in the arena. By mid-afternoon, my mind is reeling. When Elias finally hands me a mace, I really think I can't take anymore training. After a few minutes of sparring, though, I realize I'm wrong. This is the kind of training I was built for. I clear my head and battle against Elias until I can pin him to the ground nearly every time. Later, Marda lets me throw her tomahawks until I am almost as good with them as I am with the mace. I still prefer my mace though.

Elias, Marda, Charles, and I practice late into the night. Tomorrow, we will have our private session with a panel of judges. We can't afford to mess it up. Elias tells us that we will be given a rating between one and ten, with ten being spectacular and one being dismal. He says that a higher score will gain us more sponsors, so we need to perform at our absolute best. Marda tells Charles to throw his spear and show that he can swing the heavy battle axe. Elias tells me to throw the maces and the tomahawks from the farthest distance that I can. We will have to perform until a buzzer sounds, which is supposed to be about fifteen minutes.

"Fifteen minutes!" I exclaim. "It'll take me about thirty seconds to throw all of the maces and axes. What do I do after that?"

"I'm sure you'll think of somethin," Elias says.

By morning, I still haven't thought of anything. James comes over and insists that I allow him to do my hair and makeup.  
"Those judges will be even more impressed when they see how cute you are," he says.

I look at the blotchy bruise on my eye. There's no way I'm going to be cute before that thing fades. James manages to cover up the worst of it, and I almost look like myself again. He doesn't overdo the makeup, he only highlights here and there so I don't look so tired. I have to admit, the man works miracles.

James brushes through my hair and twists it a few different ways. He looks thoughtful.

"I think a braid would look good on you," he says.

"A braid?" I ask. "I don't think so. That's a little more 'warrior princess' than I was going for."

"If you say so," James replies.

Eventually he allows me to wear my hair in a simple ponytail, though he still manages to use four different styling products on it.

As the morning wears on, my nerves escalate. During our training session, I try to listen to the instructors, but I can't. Representatives are constantly being called out to go to their private sessions. By midmorning, I am completely frazzled. Charles looks just as bad as I do. His breathing is quick and he constantly glances at the exit door. When a tall woman walks in and calls "Mississippi" in a sing-song voice, I nearly hyperventilate. Our trainer dismisses us and wishes us luck. I give him a tiny wave of acknowledgement. I don't even know what station we were attending. I feel my heart pound as I drag my feet out the door. I keep telling myself that I can do this. It's just one more step to keep Kade safe. It doesn't matter what score I get.

None of it makes me feel any better.

The tall woman leads us outside and across a manicured lawn to a small building. She asks us to wait while she steps inside. While she's gone, I pace back and forth. Charles leans against the side of the building with his eyes closed. The tall woman sticks her head out and beckons me forward. When I reach her, she takes my muffler off.

"Corenn Alexander?" she asks.

"Yes," I say. I'm surprised my voice doesn't shake.

"You can come with me," the woman says. She glances at her clipboard. "Charles?" He opens his eyes. "We have a waiting room for you. Down the hall and to the right. I'll come and get you when your partner is finished." She turns to head inside, but quickly thinks of something else. "Don't try anything funny. There are cameras and guards all over this place." With that, she sets off at a brisk pace. I hurry to follow her, but not before Charles grabs my hand for a quick squeeze.

It seems like only seconds have passed when we arrive at a set of huge double doors. The woman steps inside and says my name.

"Send her in," says a male voice.

I walk into the room, and the tall woman quickly moves past me and out the door. I hear a clang as the big door shuts, sealing me inside. I survey my surroundings. The room is huge, cavernous, and entirely made of stone. The ceiling is a dome of rock at least 50 feet from the ground. I see the judges seated in a small box nestled in the wall. There are two women and two men. They are all expressionless as they watch me. I see the weapons and supplies sitting on tables against the walls. The last representative arranged the dummies in a strange position. They are scattered in disarray all over the room. Suddenly an idea occurs to me.

I approach the judges' table and stand on a big "X" painted on the floor. The judges stare at me and scribble on sheets of paper. I try to look calm and confident, but I'm sure they notice me shaking with fear. Soon, one of the men looks up.

"You may begin," he says.

I turn and walk toward the dummies. Every step echoes loudly, but I try to focus only on my task. There are eight dummies in all, and I arrange them in a large circle. I want to appear as if I am surrounded by opponents, but I space them out enough that I can do some impressive throws with my mace. When I finish with the dummies, I go to the weapon tables. There are two maces and two tomahawks. I take them and set them on the floor in the middle of the circle. I think I have taken quite a bit of time with my setup, so I feel a little rushed. I give myself time for two deep breaths.

Then I begin.

I bend down to pick up a mace and a tomahawk. As I raise back up, I throw the mace at one of the dummies. I immediately switch the tomahawk into my right hand and throw it at the next dummy. I don't wait to see if both weapons hit their mark. I turn in the opposite direction while bending to get two more weapons. I repeat my moves on two more dummies. As soon as the second tomahawk leaves my hand, I turn and sprint to retrieve my weapons from the first two dummies. I know this part will hurt, so I brace myself.

I pull the first mace free of the dummy's head, and I use my left hand to wrench out the first tomahawk. I feel a jarring stab of pain in my side, but I use all of my willpower to ignore it. I run to the nearest dummy and jab the mace straight into its face. I keep running and lodge the tomahawk in the next dummy's throat. I round the circle and yank free my second set of thrown weapons. Then I smash them into the last two dummies. When this is done, the buzzer still hasn't sounded to signal the end of my session. I gather my weapons and reassemble them in the center of the floor. I repeat the set of moves again. After retrieving my weapons a second time, the buzzer finally sounds. I sigh in relief. Using my left arm so strenuously has caused a great deal of pain. I drop the weapons and move to the "X" in front of the judges again. None of them are scribbling this time. One of the men bobs his head and smiles at me. Both of the women have wide eyes, but they keep their expressions very professional. The man on the end looks me up and down, then writes something on his paper.

"Thank you," he says. "You may go."

I nearly run in my haste to exit the room. The tall woman is waiting for me. She puts my muffler back on and escorts me to the waiting room. Charles is there, picking at a bit of stuffing that pokes out of a hole in one of the chairs.

"That is _government property!_" The woman yells. I jump at the sudden noise, but Charles only looks at the woman with raised eyebrows. She stalks over to him and jerks his muffler off. He stares at her in silence.

"Well?" the woman asks sternly. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Charles rips a piece of stuffing out of the chair, tearing a bigger hole. "Don't worry, I'm sure I'll pay for it." He gets up and stomps out of the room. The woman throws up her hands in exasperation and follows him.

I sit down in Charles's chair to wait. I hope he lets his anger fuel his performance. He'll probably get an excellent score. I continue ripping out pieces of fluff. I can see why the woman's comment made Charles so angry. We ought to be entitled to a bit of destructive behavior, considering we are about to give our lives for the sake of these ridiculous Games.

By the time Charles returns, I have made a small pile of white fluff on the floor at my feet. I am happy to see that the uptight woman doesn't come back with him. We make our way back to the training center. When we arrive, we join the Tennessee representatives, who are learning to tie knots. I can't see much use for this activity, but the trainer's enthusiasm makes me want to do well. The Tennessee man and woman look terrible. The woman's hands are shaking too badly to tie any knots, and the man's palms are so sweaty that he can't hold onto his piece of rope. I am suddenly thankful that my state doesn't fall very late in the alphabet.

When the Tennessee representatives are summoned to their private session, I give them a thumbs up. They barely acknowledge me. Charles and I learn how to judge the time of day by the sun's placement and how to camouflage ourselves and our equipment before the Tennessee representatives return. The woman is in tears, but she is clearly relieved to be done. The man looks satisfied, as if his session turned out better than he expected.

Sonia's dismissal today is much longer than usual. She keeps us long past our designated time to leave, and tries to refresh our memories on every single thing we've learned over the past five days. She wishes us luck with our interviews tomorrow, and then tells us she has high hopes that the victor will come out of this class. When we are finally allowed to leave, we find Elias and Marda waiting outside the training center. Marda rips Charles's muffler off in her excitement to hear how his private session went. Elias is slightly gentler with me, but not much.

Once our mufflers are off, the coaches just stare at us. I suddenly have no idea what to say. I thought my session went okay. I didn't miss my throws or break anything. But I can't really know for sure that I did well. I won't know that until tonight when we sit through a television special to announce the scores. Charles doesn't speak, and neither do I.

"Did them mufflers strike ya dumb?" Elias says after a moment. "How'd your sessions go?"

"Um..." I say. "Fine, I guess."

"Yeah, fine," says Charles.

Elias chuckles loudly. He slaps his knee and holds Marda's shoulder for support while he laughs. Charles and I just stare at him. Marda seems confused about whether she should laugh or scold Elias for his behavior. Eventually, Elias straightens up and wipes his eyes.

"Ya hear that Marda?" He says. "It went _fine_." He has another laughing fit.

Marda's lips purse as she tries to hold back her laughter, but soon she starts giggling. I look at Charles. He wears a goofy grin. I can't help myself. I start smiling too. I don't know what's so funny, but I do know that there won't be many more chances for me to laugh, so I enjoy it.

"Do you know," Elias says while he tries to catch his breath, "How many hours of sleep Marda and I lost over this private session? It's all we've talked about ever since we found out we'd be coachin together. Your scores are the biggest indicator that we did a good job teachin ya. And you two come out here sayin it was just _fine." _He chuckles again.

Marda tries to stop her giggling, but she has come down with a serious case of hiccups. She manages to stop laughing, and she straightens her hair.

"Well -_hic_- on that note -_hic-_ do you have anything more helpful to add?"

I glance at Charles, who is clearly trying not to laugh.

"For my session, I just threw some maces and axes," I say. "I didn't miss, and I did it fast enough that I had time to go back and do it again. I guess I'll get a decent score."

Elias and Marda seem satisfied with my answer. They both look at Charles.

"I...well I threw some spears and shot the bow," he says. "I didn't miss either."

This seems to be exactly what Marda and Elias were hoping to hear. Marda raises her hands in joy, and Elias does a jig. I conclude that they have officially lost their minds.

"So what?" I ask. "Why is this such a big deal? I mean, I know we'll get sponsors if we do well. But it's not like it's going to change anything."

That sobers everyone up. It even gets rid of Marda's hiccups. We walk in silence for a bit. Surprisingly it's Marda who answers in a gentle voice.

"A high score can prove to everyone that you have a chance to win. It can pull sponsors away from big shots like Miller Hughes. That could sway things to your advantage. Corenn, this could change _everything_."


	17. Chapter 17: Scores

**Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading and showing your support for this story. It means so much. Don't worry, we'll get to the arena soon!**

**Chapter 17: Scores**

Elias and Marda spend the afternoon telling us random bits of information about the arena.

"They'll shoot a gun off every time someone dies," Elias says.

"A clean up crew will come out at night to recover the bodies," says Marda. "Be sure not to confront them. They carry guns."

"They'll announce who died each day over a loudspeaker."

"All of the water you find will be purified."

"There will be hidden cameras everywhere."

"Don't forget that snare I taught ya."

It goes on and on. Charles and I sit on the couch with our eyes glazed over. I don't want to think about the arena. I want to think about Kade. I picture his face in my head. I wonder if he's stopped asking about me yet. Maybe he'll forget me easily enough. He's young. If he has to lose me, it's best that it be now when he won't remember it. I try to convince myself that he'll be fine. He'll have Thomas and my parents. He'll be taken care of. He'll be loved.

"Are either of ya listening to a word we're sayin?" Elias asks.

Charles and I nod our heads convincingly. The coaches don't buy it.

"How about we go upstairs and do some training?" Marda suggests.

I jump up, eager to have an activity to occupy my mind. I throw maces with Marda for a while. Charles and Elias practice across the room with battle axes. When I get tired of throwing, Marda gives me a few pointers on using the bow. I'm a little better now that my sides are healing up. It still hurts to pull the bow string back, but I manage to hit the target a few times. Marda gives me praise, but I can see in her expression that I'm really not improving at all. I give up soon, and Charles and Elias tire from holding the heavy axes. We decide to take a break and raid the kitchen. I eat cookies until the security check, but somehow I still make room for dinner. I guess I have finally realized that I won't get many more meals.

After dinner, we take seats in front of the tv. The scoring announcements will take ages, but Kevin and Richard still spend 30 minutes introducing the segment. I spend the time trying to tell Kevin and Richard apart. I notice that Kevin is slightly more bald than Richard, and Richard often wipes his face with a handkerchief. By the time the Alabama representatives appear on the screen, I am completely bored. Albert scores a six and Tanya gets a four. The Alaska man and woman both get a six. The scores go on and on and on. The man from Colorado remarkably gets a nine. I mentally note that I should watch out for him. Most people gets scores between three and six. I decide that there's no way I could have gotten higher than that. The lowest score so far is the girl from Kentucky. She gets a one. I suspect that she probably just stood there until the judges allowed her to leave. Logan Reinhart gets an eight. No surprises there. As our score announcement draws closer, Charles and I both get nervous. I curl my knees up and rock back and forth. Charles bites his nails. The girl from Michigan gets a seven. The man from Minnesota gets a five. The woman gets a six.  
"And now," Kevin announces, "The scores for Mississippi." A picture of Charles appears. "Charles Midden scores a seven."

Marda applauds and Elias jumps out of his seat with a loud "whoop". I tackle Charles in a huge hug. A seven is excellent in comparison to almost everyone else.

My face appears on the screen.

"Corenn Alexander scores a nine," Kevin says.

Everyone is silent. My arms are still draped around Charles, but I don't move. A _nine_? The judges must be crazy. I can't possibly be that much better than everyone else. Maybe it was because I used maces. I know I was the only one in my training sessions that used them, but that doesn't mean the other classes were the same way. Maybe it's a mistake. Maybe Kevin got confused and read the wrong number. I look at Kevin, waiting for him to correct himself. He doesn't. He moves on to Missouri's scores.

Charles looks at me with a wide grin. Marda and Elias are still dumbstruck, but I can see their surprise turning to excitement. I look at them with raised eyebrows. Elias springs into action first. He grabs Marda in a hug and twirls her around. She giggles and blushes. Elias comes over to the couch where Charles and I still sit. He kneels in front of us and grabs my hand. He rests his other hand on Charles's shoulder. I can see tears in his eyes.

"I can't tell ya how proud I am," he says.

Marda stands behind the couch and wraps her arms around Charles and I. I can hear her sniffling. Oh boy.

"This is just the best thing that could've happened!" Marda blubbers. "One of you could win!"

Her arm tightens around me. I want to tell her that it hurts, but I decide to let it go. I am completely amazed by my score, but I haven't changed my mind. I still don't think I can win. It's obvious that I will have quite a few sponsors, but they can only do so much. There are too many variables. What if there's not a mace at the cornucopia? What if I can't find Charles? What if Miller finds me?

I suppose Miller is inevitable. Even If Charles and I manage to evade everyone else, we'll still have to deal with Miller. I don't know if the two of us together are up to that task. I want to win. Really, I do. I want to go home and see my son. I want to win the prizes for my state. I want to make Elias and Marda proud. I just don't think it's very likely. Surprisingly, the problem that worries me the most is that Charles will be dead if I win. I certainly don't want any of the representatives to die, though I wouldn't mourn for Miller. I think of Eleanor's courage and poor Anya who has already given up. Their deaths would haunt me, but Charles... I just don't know what I would do. He's become like a brother to me, and he's all I will have in the arena. I can't bear the thought of losing him. If I have to die, I want to do it protecting Charles. I want to die before he does.

Elias is staring at me, waiting for me to react. Charles seems to know how I feel. He looks like he's ready to talk about something besides our scores. Marda is still hovering behind us. Her strong perfume is giving me a headache. I guess I have to say _something._

"Yay," I say blandly, and give a little fist pump.

Elias's brows knot in concern.

"Okay, out with it," he says. "What's buggin you two?" He looks at his feet. "Besides the obvious, of course."

Charles smiles a little. "Oh, _besides_ the fact that we're going to be fighting for our lives soon?" He laughs sarcastically. "I think that about covers it for me. What about you Corenn?"

I smile sadly. "Yeah, that's a pretty huge bummer."

Marda comes around the couch and sits beside Charles. I can see that her excitement is replaced with concern.

"You both should be so happy," she says. "All your hard work has paid off! You'll have sponsors and skills that are better than the majority of the competition."

I shrug. Faces and scores are still flashing on the tv screen. "They're _people_, Marda. So what if we can throw weapons better than them? That doesn't make it easy to kill them."

Elias shoots a look at Marda. "I told ya we should've talked to them about this. Killin ain't an easy thing."

Marda looks angry. "They aren't weaklings, Elias. When the time comes, they'll do what they have to do."

Elias sighs and turns to us. "Listen, I know this ain't what you wanna hear, but killin is just part of this. You heard what Alanton told ya in that meetin. You're gonna have to fight to keep your families safe. I don't want either of ya riskin your family's life to save some other representative. Most of them wouldn't do the same for you. You just have to remember what your fightin for."

"He's right," Marda says. "I didn't think we needed to have this talk. Especially with you, Corenn. I'm a mother, and if I had to kill to keep my son safe, I'd do it without a second thought."

"It's not that," I say. "I'll do what I have to for Kade's safety. "It's just..." I look at the floor, "Both of us can't win."

Marda frowns sympathetically. Elias seems to be getting emotional again. Charles grabs my hand in a tight squeeze.

Elias clears his throat. "That's true," he says gruffly. "But if I have to lose one of ya, I want the other to come out of this as the victor. I won't lose ya both." His eyes start to tear up again.

I feel my emotions beginning to unravel. I don't want to fall apart again. I need to be strong now. Strong for Elias and Marda, strong for Charles, strong for my family. I excuse myself and leave the living room. I know I should stay and wait for Miller's score, but I don't care what it is. I know he's better than me. The proof is in my aching sides as I climb the stairs.

I head to my private training area and grab a mace. I throw it and retrieve it again and again. Training shuts out my emotions, and I am able to think more clearly. To save Kade, I will have to kill innocent people. I can deal with that. What I can't deal with is Charles's death. The only solution is to fight as hard as I can to save him. I will kill, I will become a murderer. I will lose myself.

But I won't lose Charles.

I throw the mace late into the night. Elias must know that I need time to think because he doesn't interrupt me. When I finally get tired, I collect the mace for one last throw. When it lodges in the dummy, I leave it there and head to my room. As I shower, my anxiety returns. I have an interview tomorrow, and the next day is the start of the Games. In 48 hours, I'll either be dead or a killer. How can I cope with that? I lay down in bed and remember Marda's words.

_When the time comes, they'll do what they have to do._

As I toss and turn, I think about Kade. I think about Marda and Elias and Charles. I think about Thomas and mom and dad. I decide that Marda is right. I can do this. I will kill and I will die. But I will be brave. I will be tough. I will be strong. Not because I want to.

Because I don't have a choice.


	18. Chapter 18: Interview

**Chapter 18: Interview**

In the morning, Elias walks me to the stylists' pavilion. James immediately gets to work on my hair and makeup for the interview. I don't ask Elias to stay, but he does anyway. I think he's trying to spend every moment he can with me before I go into the arena. James chatters about my interview outfit, and he tells me how to present myself to the audience. He explains that I will undoubtedly be asked about the fight with Miller, so I should prepare for that. I will also be asked about my scores. James thinks I should be as secretive as possible about what I did to get a nine. The sponsors will be lining up for a representative with a secret skill.

I try not to get nervous, but of course I do anyway. My interview is in the afternoon so I have plenty of time to psych myself out. By lunch I am too nauseated to eat a bite, even though James orders pizza for me again. After lunch, James helps me dress. My outfit is a dark green silky shirt paired with a black pencil skirt. It's very simple, but somehow it's better than any extravagant dress I could have imagined. James has my hair falling in loose curls, and my makeup is a little more dramatic than I would normally wear. I guess he had to overcompensate a little to cover my bruises. The whole ensemble feels very natural until James shows me the shoes.

"Oh come on, James!" I exclaim. "There's no way I can walk in those."

I wobble around for a few minutes at James's insistence. He says I will get better with practice. He's right, but I don't get much better. I'm fairly confident that I won't fall on my face if I move slowly. Elias tries to talk James into a more efficient pair of shoes, but he won't hear it.

"These shoes are the highlight of the outfit!" James says. "Well, except for _you_ darling," he tells me.

After I creep across the room without a problem, James and Elias both agree that I'm ready. James isn't allowed to accompany me to the interview building, so he gives me a big hug and kisses my hand.

"You'll be perfect," he says. He holds both of my hands in his.

"James," I say shakily, "I'm scared."

He smiles sympathetically. "I know honey. Remember, it's only five minutes. Just laugh at Richard's jokes and it will be over before you know it."

He gives me another hug and Elias escorts me outside. I take my shoes off. I carry them in one hand while Elias holds the other. We don't speak, but I catch Elias observing me anxiously every time I look his way. I try to smile and walk confidently for his sake. We reach the interview building. A man ushers us to a small waiting room where Marda and Charles stare in confusion at a tv screen. Charles is wearing black pants with a white shirt and green tie. His hair sticks in many different directions, but I can tell that Lissa arranged it very precisely. His sleeves are rolled halfway up his arms and he props his elbow casually on the arm of his chair. He looks like he's been doing interviews his whole life. His state of ease makes me even more nervous. When we walk in, Charles and Marda barely look away from the tv.

Elias and I sit in the chairs meant for us. There is a refreshment table filled with punch and tiny sandwiches. They are untouched. I guess Charles is more nervous than he looks. I turn to the television. Richard sits beside Anya, the female Kentucky representative. She wears a lovely gray dress with silver beading on the neck. Her pale face is tear streaked and she refuses to say a word. Richard awkwardly recites a few facts about her that he reads from a notecard in his hand. He gives Anya's hand a sympathetic squeeze and wipes his forehead with a handkerchief. Anya won't leave her seat until someone comes to escort her away. She doesn't even seem to know where she is. The scene is pitiful, but it doesn't shock me. Anya has been a wreck since she got here. I look at Charles, who still seems befuddled.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

Charles turns to me and seems to really notice me for the first time. His eyebrows raise.

"Wow, Corenn, you look great!" He says and looks back at the tv screen. "That Kentucky woman wasn't the first one to look like she'd seen a ghost. Every person I've seen looks terrible when they come on stage."

I shrug. "We're going into the arena tomorrow. I'm sure everyone is scared."

"I don't think that's it," Charles says. He studies the screen in silence. Richard has been trying to kill time since Anya's interview was cut short. It seems that he has killed enough. He begins the introduction for Logan Reinhart. The crowd cheers and stands to their feet. Logan steps out on the stage and I gasp. He looks _shaken._ Now I see what Charles means. Logan always has a confident step and exudes an aura of strength. The man on stage now looks like a handsome little boy that lost his mommy. He is pale and shaking. Sweat beads on his brow. He misses a step as he walks to his chair and almost falls. Richard shakes Logan's hand and looks disappointed. I guess he was counting on this interview being an easy one.

I look questioningly at Elias. He shakes his head at me. He doesn't know what's going on either. I know it's not the interview that has Logan so upset. I'm sure he's done tons of interviews in the past. Could he just be that afraid of the arena? I don't think so. With his skills, size, and score he really has a fighting chance.

Logan calms down during the interview and manages to crack a few jokes by the end. He flashes a glowing smile and I sigh in relief. I don't trust Logan, but he may be the only person that can beat Miller. He can't go to pieces now. He waves to the crowd and they go crazy. Richard thanks him over and over as he ends the interview. I feel a little sorry for Richard. His job can't be easy, and he was probably forced into it.

We watch a few more interviews before someone comes to take us backstage. Elias and Marda hug us both and wish us luck. My nerves are taking over now. I shake and stumble. Charles still seems calm, but I can tell he's starting to sweat. A woman takes us to a white room with blank walls. There are no chairs or refreshments here. Charles paces the floor. I would probably pace too, but I'm too scared to walk in my shoes. I stand and run my hands across the bare walls. I tell myself not to think about anything except keeping my breakfast down. Eventually Charles stands beside me. He leans against the wall but doesn't speak. I lean beside him, and he grabs my hand. It seems like we stand, silent and unmoving, for ages. Charles's supportive hand is the only thing that keeps me from screaming. I suspect that my hand does the same for him. I can feel that we've truly become a team. I trust him, and he trusts me. If we can only find each other in the arena, we can get through anything. I won't be so afraid to die if Charles is holding my hand.

A woman in black abruptly opens the door.

"I need the female please," she says.

I slowly step away from Charles. _The female?_ _It's like I'm a dog or something, _I think. I step outside the door and look back. Charles gives me an encouraging smile. The woman takes me to a room with two big double doors. She moves to exit, but comes back to me. She leans close to me and pretends to smooth my hair.

"Corenn?" she whispers.

I try to be nonchalant, and I nod very slightly.

"I don't know what's behind those doors," she continues softly, "But it must be bad. Prepare yourself."

She turns and walks out.

I'm left alone to ponder her words. I stare at the doors in front of me. I doubt that I'm going to be attacked, but I can't think of anything else to prepare for. I guess if something comes at me, I can just beat it to a pulp with my shoe. Whatever is inside those doors must be pretty scary by the looks of the other representatives' interviews. I take a few deep breaths. I'm not sure what to do now. The door doesn't have knobs on this side, so I can't go in. Not that I want to. After a few minutes I decide to try and find the woman who left me here.

Just as my hand touches the exit door, the double doors slowly creep open. I move to look in the doorway. It's dark inside, so it takes my eyes a few seconds to adjust. When I finally make out what I'm seeing, I clamp my hand over my mouth and take a few steps back. Alanton is a demented, evil, nut job. No doubt about it.

The room is a long, dank corridor. It is filled with coffins as far as my eyes can see. The first coffins are brown. The word "Wyoming" is written in white on the side. I make myself step inside the room. As soon as I do, the doors close behind me. I reach for the knobs, but there aren't any on this side either. My eyes further adjust to the darkness. The white letters on the coffins seem to glow, giving me a little light. I step forward, trying to collect myself. I breathe erratically and try not to cry. I pass each states' coffins as I walk. I cross my arms and stay in the center of the corridor, as far from each coffin as possible. I tell myself to walk faster, but my legs won't do it. I creep along, trying not to look at anything, but every state name is etched into my mind forever. It seems like I walk for hours before I see the thing I'm dreading most.

The Mississippi coffins.

I try to keep moving, but I can't. I stop and stare at them. They are dark green, of course, with the same white lettering as the others. I look between the two, wondering which is mine. I feel tears welling up and I look away. I slowly move on and continue the long walk. I refuse to look at another coffin. As I make my way closer and closer to the exit, I find that I'm getting angry. This is just sick. I can't believe Alanton is making us do this. I guess dying isn't enough. He has to break us in every possible way first. I clench my fists and focus my eyes on the darkness at the end of the hallway. Another set of double doors opens at my approach. I see a stage where two chairs sit. Richard is perched nervously in one chair, speaking to a camera. The other chair is empty, waiting for me. I stand perfectly still, unsure of what I'm supposed to do and unsure if I'm able to do anything at all. My breathing is shaky and erratic. I gulp air into my lungs. I try to deal with the terror and anger that course through my body. A woman peeks her head into the doorway. She looks pale and drawn. She reaches for me and I reflexively take her hand. I stumble as I move toward her.

"It's almost your turn," She says softly.

I nod and stare with blank eyes at the stage. I know I have to put myself back together now. My family will watch this interview and so will tons of potential sponsors. I need to look confident and strong.

Richard starts introducing me and the woman guides me to a set of steps. I hope I'm not on camera yet. I'm just not ready.

Not ready. That's the story of my life these days.

"Here she is!" Richard announces. "Corenn Alexander!" He gestures a welcoming hand in my direction. "Come on up!"

The woman gives me a little shove and somehow I manage to walk up the steps. I am certain my heart pounds louder than the crowd's applause. I slowly make my way to Richard. I can't smile, but I hold my chin up and keep my shoulders back. Richard obviously expects my reaction. He probably expects worse after the way some of the representatives looked on stage. I take Richard's hand and he gives me a firm squeeze. I look straight into his eyes and he stares right back. I can see very plainly that he is concerned for me. He knows what I have just seen and he hates it. He gives me a grim smile and guides me to a chair. I sit down and keep my eyes on Richard. I don't want to look at the audience. They are all here voluntarily and I detest them for it. They get to go back home tonight and know they are safe. They will wake up early tomorrow to watch me go into the arena.

They will probably cheer when I die.

Richard looks as if he feels the same resentment for the audience. I find myself wondering who his family members are and how Alanton has threatened them. I resolve to try and do a good job on this interview, for Richard's sake. I force my lips into a fake smile. Richard smiles back. His fake smile is much more convincing. I guess he's had a lot of practice.

"Well, Corenn," he begins, "You've caused quite a stir since you arrived here."

I fake a giggle.

"Not on purpose," I say.

"Of course not!" Richard says with a chuckle. "Who would fight Miller Hughes _on purpose_?"

"Not me," I say.

I know I'm not giving Richard much to go on, but he seems pleased enough.

"Tell me about that day, Corenn," he says. "Did you provoke Miller in any way before he hit you?"

"No," I say firmly. "We were supposed to be sparring just for practice. I was practicing. He wasn't. Simple as that."

Richard gives me a sympathetic smile. "I know I speak for myself and everyone watching when I say how sorry I am that you were injured."

I nod. I believe that Richard is sorry, but I don't believe that the viewers are. I'm sure they were excited to have something to talk about over dinner that night.

"What about Logan Reinhart?" Richard asks. "He pulled Miller away from you during the attack and was injured as well. Why did he save you?"

I stare at Richard. I don't know how to answer. I don't know why Logan did it. He probably wanted to look like a knight in shining armor so he could get more sponsors. I doubt that's what the crowd wants to hear.

"Um..." I begin, "I don't really know. I'm glad he did it, though. Miller would have killed me. I'm very grateful."

There. Now I don't owe Logan Reinhart anything. I probably just gained him tons of sponsors and sympathy. I feel like we're even now, and I didn't even have to lie. I _am_ glad he rescued me, and I'm truly grateful. I hope he knows that if he's watching.

Richard continues asking questions. He pries for answers about my strategy in the arena. He asks about my partnership with Charles. He asks about Elias's coaching methods. I begin to wonder if he is ever going to let me leave. Surely my five minutes have passed.

"Alright, Corenn, we have to move along," Richard says. "I just have one last question. Let's talk about your score. A nine is exceptionally good. Can you tell us what you did to receive it?"

"Well...I..." I stammer. "I don't think I should say what I did. I _will_ tell you that it felt amazing to score that high. I didn't expect it."

"Okay then," Richard says with a laugh. "I won't push you for more information. We'll all see what you can do tomorrow. Before we say good-bye, is there anything you would like to say to the crowd?"

I turn my head to the audience for the first time. They all wear expectant smiles. I know I have to say something, but their happiness brings my anger flooding back. I spend a few seconds collecting myself.

I stare boldly across the crowd. "Everyone here saw what Miller did to me. I know it made me look weak. All I can say is...I was powerless then."

I rise from my chair and stand as straight as I can. "Well, I'm not powerless anymore."

I turn to Richard, shake his hand, and abruptly leave the stage. The crowd goes wild, but I ignore them. Black-clad workers show me which direction to take backstage. They all tell me I did a good job, but I ignore them. My resolve is starting to fade. Every bit of courage that I mustered up has left me. All I can think of now are the green Mississippi coffins. _I could be in one of those at this time tomorrow_, I think. _So could Charles._ My eyes fill with tears. I rush through a doorway, and Elias is there. I fall into his arms and sob. He pats my head and doesn't say a word. After a few minutes, he asks if I want to watch Charles's interview.

"No!" I say. "I don't want to see his face after...after..." I start sobbing again.

"What did they show ya, Renn?" Elias asks. He pulls my chin up so I am forced to look at him. "Did somebody hurt ya?"

I shake my head. "No, not physically anyway."

Elias guides me to a chair. As I sit I notice that men and women in black suits rush around the room. They completely ignore us. I guess my reaction to the interview process is not an unusual one. I sit for a few minutes and collect myself. Eventually, a woman tells us we have to leave. Marda comes in to wait for Charles. She is alarmed when she sees my face, but she doesn't ask questions. She tells me Charles did a good job, and then a man ushers us out. Elias takes me outside to get some fresh air. I walk around, taking deep breaths. The sunny sky calms me down and I try to bask in my last afternoon of freedom. As we walk toward the house, Elias looks down at my feet.

"You don't wanna take off them darn things?" He asks.

I stop walking and glance at my shoes.

I shrug. "I guess James was right. I just needed practice. They feel fine now."

Elias shakes his head. "It's confidence, not practice. You can do anything ya set your mind to. Don't you forget it."

We walk for a bit in silence. Elias doesn't ask any more questions about what I saw, and that suits me fine. When we arrive back at the house, James is there. He gushes about how great my interview was. He didn't seem to notice that I walked through a house of horrors before I went onstage. I hope no one else did either. He takes me upstairs and lets me change into some comfortable sweats. He takes off my makeup and puts my hair in a pony tail. I could do all of this myself, but I don't want James to leave. When he's finished, he sits down on my bed and holds his arms out. I curl up beside him. We sit like this until Charles comes in with Lissa. We make room for them on the bed. Charles looks nervous, but he stays calm. I hope I'm covering my emotions up as well as he is. The time is passing much too fast. Elias and Marda come upstairs too. Marda sits on the bed and Elias takes the armchair. We all sit silently, alone in our thoughts. This will be the last time we are all together. I try to cherish the moment. I examine every face, hoping to remember them perfectly. I want to tell them how much they've meant to me, even though I've only known them a short time. I want them to know that I couldn't have chosen a better team. I want to tell them good bye.

But I don't.

When it's time for the security check, we go downstairs. Even the security man seems a bit less gruff tonight. Our supper is extravagant. There is much more food than usual. James and Lissa decide to stay for dinner, but no one really eats. The meal is a subdued affair. Marda doesn't even try to start up a conversation. When we finish sliding our food around on our plates, we move to the living room. Tonight no one turns on the tv. Soon, James and Lissa say they need to leave. They have to go pick up the secret arena outfits. James gives me a kiss on the cheek and promises to see me in the morning. He hugs Charles and whispers to him, but I can't hear what he says. Lissa kneels in front of me and takes my hand.

"I won't see you in the morning," she says. "I'm so sorry that this happened. I...well...I hope this isn't good bye Corenn."

She looks away and wipes her eyes. I squeeze her hand and she squeezes back. James stands and reaches for her. They walk arm in arm, supporting each other as they leave. When they're gone, Marda asks to speak to me alone. We go into the kitchen and sit at the big dining table.

"Tomorrow, I'll be with Charles before he goes into the arena," she begins, "but I want you to know that I support you too."

I nod, keeping my eyes on the table.

"Look at me, Corenn," Marda says.

I raise my head. Marda's eyes are rimmed in red. She may be a tough person, but I can tell that this is hard for her too. She sits in silence for a few seconds, looking me over.

"You can win these Games," She says.

I raise my eyebrows. "You know that isn't true, Marda."

She looks away and blinks a few times. She takes a deep breath.

"I wanted to coach you," She says.

I look at her in shock. "What?" I ask. "Why?"

"When I saw the reapings..." She gulps. "I asked Elias to switch with me. I told him I wanted you. He wouldn't do it."

"Well, at least you got Charles," I say.

Marda nods. "Yes. He's accomplished a lot. I'm glad I was allowed to coach him." She turns back to me and looks straight into my eyes. "He won't win, though."

I jerk out of my seat, knocking my chair over. I feel my eyes well up.

"Don't say that!" I yell.

Marda stands up as suddenly as I do. She walks to me and grabs both of my wrists.

"This is your weakness, Corenn," she says firmly. "You can't see things as they are. You let your emotions rule you."

I feel hot tears running down my face. "I just can't handle all of this! It's too much!"

Marda puts a finger over my lips. "Hush. You _can _handle this." She takes her finger away and grabs my hand. "That's what I told Elias after the reaping. He asked me why I wanted you. I said, 'because she's strong.'"

I look at the floor. My lip trembles, but I manage to keep from sobbing. Marda hugs me tightly for a moment, and then she leaves.

I sit back down at the table and stare at my hands. They are a mother's hands. I use them to cook and to clean. I use them to soothe my son and console my husband.

Tomorrow I will use them for killing.

I see my wedding ring sparkling on my hand. I wonder if they will let me wear it in the arena. I don't think I want to. I don't want to stain it with blood. I take the band off and set it down in front of me. I feel lost without it, but it feels like the right thing to do. I need to separate myself from the person I was before. Corenn the mother, Corenn the wife - is gone. This ring is a symbol of her. It shines with beauty and love. My hands look bare and cold, like I feel. I guess that is all that's left for me now. I stand, never taking my eyes from the ring.

"Good bye," I tell it, and head upstairs.


	19. Chapter 19: Launch

**Chapter 19: Launch**

I sit on my bed alone. I doubt I will sleep tonight. Elias stops in to give me a kiss on the top of my head and tell me everything will be alright. My heart aches for that to be true. I close my eyes and picture a grassy meadow filled with flowers. Kade is there with Thomas. He frolics and plays with butterflies. Thomas sets out a blanket and plates for a picnic. I wear a white sundress and my hair flows loosely on my shoulders. I am innocent.

I am happy.

"Corenn?"

My eyes snap open to see Charles standing in my doorway. My happiness dwindles away. Charles still wears his interview clothes, though he has removed the tie. He sits down beside me on the bed.

"How are you holding up?" he asks.

I smile sarcastically. "Everything's just peachy," I say.

Charles laughs. "Yeah, stupid question. Sorry."

I reach over and touch his arm. "Don't apologize. I know you were just being nice."

He nods. We fall into silence. I know I should say something. We should discuss our arena strategies. We should talk about how we'll find each other. We should say good bye.

"Charles?" I ask.

"Hmmm?" Charles replies.

"Do you have a nickname? Or do you just go by Charles?"

He smiles. "My mom calls me Charlie."

"Charlie." I nod. "I like it. My friends call me Renn."

"Renn's a cool name," he says.

We lapse into silence again. I lounge back on my pillows, rolling to my left side. It still hurts, but I can breathe and rest comfortably. Charles relaxes beside me, putting both arms behind his head. For a long time, nothing is said. Charles closes his eyes and sits so still that I wonder if he is sleeping. Eventually he turns to me and opens his eyes. The sadness on his face makes my stomach knot up. I know we are about to have the conversation I've been dreading.

"If you make it out, and I don't," Charles says, "Will you take care of my mom?"

I rub my eyes and sigh. "Don't talk like that."

He reaches out and grabs my hand. "Please, Renn. Promise me."

"I promise," I say after a moment.

"Thank you," Charles says in relief. He relaxes and closes his eyes again.

I watch his chest rise and fall for another few minutes. I will try to remember him like this, alive and warm and safe.

I sit up. "I will find you in the arena," I say firmly. "We're family now. I won't lose you."

"Renn," Charles begins softly. "Things might not work that way. You have to accept-"

"Shut up!" I yell. "Here's the plan. We find each other. We stay alive. We fight until the end. If we go down, we do it together."

Charles nods. "That's plan A." He sits up and takes my hands in his. "Here's plan B. If I die-"

"No!" I interrupt.

"Listen to me!" Charles says in the most determined voice I've heard from him. "If I die, you have to go on. You have to keep trying. Can you do that for me?"

I look into his pleading eyes. I can't refuse him. I nod in agreement.

"Will you do the same for me?" I ask. "Will you keep trying once I'm gone?"

I can tell he doesn't like this thought. He swallows and grits his teeth.

"Yes," he promises. "I will."

I give him a sad smile and lay down. Charles lounges back and closes his eyes again. My despair and fear are overwhelming. I'm afraid to lose Charles. I'm afraid to fight innocent people.

I'm afraid to die.

My mind swarms with terrible thoughts, and I don't try to calm them. If there's any time to feel sorry for myself, it's now. I won't have time for that in the arena.

Somewhere amid my thoughts of death and terror, I fall into a fitful sleep.

Elias wakes Charles and I early in the morning. Elias looks terrible. I doubt he slept at all. Charles stirs groggily on the other side of the bed. When he wakes up, he smiles at me. I watch as the upcoming events of the day return to his mind. His smile falls. He flops back down and puts a pillow over his head. I feel like doing the same thing. Elias tells us we have to go in fifteen minutes, and then he leaves.

Charles uncovers his face.

"I guess this is it, then," he says.

My eyes tear up.

"I guess so," I say shakily.

He sits up. "It's been an honor to know you, Renn."

"Likewise," I say.

He hugs me tightly. I hold onto him for as long as I can. When he lets go, he doesn't look at me again. He walks out of the room and shuts the door. I cross my arms and try to hold myself together. I listen to his footsteps recede down the stairs. In all likelihood, I have just said my last good bye to Charles Midden.

Elias escorts me to the stylist's pavilion without a word. When he leaves me with James, he promises to see me soon. I know he is going to be taken to the launch chamber for the arena. He will be the only person with me for those last moments of freedom. He will be my last good bye.

Oh, how I dread it.

James is already crying when I arrive. He pulls himself together, but I can tell it's a struggle. He lets me take a long shower, and then he combs my hair soothingly. He shows me the arena outfit, which is entirely black. Everything looks sturdy, from the heavy pants to the durable boots. My jacket has "ALEXANDER" written across the back in green lettering. I just can't escape that stupid green.

When I'm dressed, James begs me to let him braid my hair. I refuse.

"It's just not _me_," I say.

Eventually he agrees. He pulls my hair into a smooth ponytail. He dots a bit of makeup over my fading bruises, but otherwise leaves my face in its natural state. When he's done, we still have some time left before I have to go.

"I want to show you something," James says.

He goes to the closet and pulls out a garment bag. He unzips it and pulls out the most beautiful dress I've ever seen. It is a white strapless gown with silver accents. It isn't extravagant, like my southern belle dress. Its simplicity is magical. I stare at it in wonder.

"What is this, James?" I ask.

"It's your victory dress," he replies.

My mouth falls open. "Oh," I say. "It's beautiful."

James gives me a small smile and puts the dress back in the garment bag.

"What will you do with it when..." I clear my throat, "IF I don't win?"

James zips the garment bag and places it back in the closet.

"Um...well..." He stammers.

Then it dawns on me.

"I'll be buried in it," I say blandly.

James nods.

I walk over to him and give him a hug.

"It's the most beautiful dress I've ever seen," I tell him. "Thank you."

He knows I am not just thanking him for the dress. I'm thanking him for the effort and the time that he has put forth for me. His eyes well up and he hugs me again.

It is time for me to go.

James walks me to the door, where a security person waits. I can tell that James can't take a big good bye speech, and that's just as well. I don't think I can take it either. When I reach the door, I turn around.

"I'm scared," I say, as I did yesterday before the interview.

"Me too," James replies simply. There are no reassurances that all will be well today. He knows better than that.

I let go of his hand and I'm whisked away.

In the car, I fell horrified. I am alone in the backseat. A driver and a security person sit in the front, but they don't speak to me or to each other. There is no music, no sound other than the rumble of the car and my pounding heart. I refuse to allow myself to cry. I thought I said all of my good byes at the reaping. I saw my parents, my husband, and my son for the last time that day. I guess I should be thankful that I met wonderful people like Elias, Marda, James, Lissa, and Charles. I am thankful, really. I just feel like I'm losing my family all over again. Except this time I'm losing myself too.

When the car stops, dread settles on me like never before. The weight of it is so much that I don't think I can leave the seat on my own. The security man seems to understand. He gently assists me, and bears most of my weight as we walk into a dark tunnel. At the end of the tunnel is a doorway. The door has a scanner for my security badge. When it is scanned, the door opens. The man puts my badge in his pocket. I guess I won't have to worry about security checks here. I am trapped.

The door clangs shut behind us, and the man escorts me down a dim hallway. I don't pay attention to my surroundings. It's not like I'll be needing to find my way back out of here. The man passes a lot of unmarked doorways. Soon, he stops at one and knocks. I wonder how he can tell this door from all the rest. Elias flings the door open.

I can see the marks of freshly wiped tears on his cheeks. He smiles. He is trying to be strong for me.

That's when I lose it.

I fall into Elias's arms and sob. He murmurs soothing words, but I don't listen.

"I don't want to die, Elias!" I say.

"Hush, now, Renn, Hush," He mutters as he pats my back.

I cry for a little while, but I know that I don't have time for this luxury. I wipe my eyes and survey the room. It is mostly bare. One wall is entirely made up of a huge mirror. I guess it's for representatives who want to fit in just a little more training before the Games begin. A piece of paper and a green marker sit on a small table in the corner. Elias walks to it. He folds the paper into fourths and hands it to me.

"You'll be needing this," he says.

I unfold the paper and see a list of all the representatives. Elias hands me the marker.

"Why do I need this?" I ask.

"To keep track of who's left," he answers.

I swallow and take a deep breath. This is all so morbid. I fold the paper up and put it in a small pocket on the inside of my jacket. I stick the marker beside it.

"How much time do I have?" I ask Elias.

"About five minutes," he says.

Five minutes.

I sink into a rickety chair beside the table. Elias leans on the wall beside me.

"I'm gonna see your folks in a little while," he says softly. "Is there anything you'd like them to know?"

My mind reels. I want them to know everything. I want them to know that I've replayed every second that I've spent with them. I've stored it all in my memory. I hold them close to my heart. I want them to know that I'm fighting for them. Every person that I hurt or kill will be because I want to protect them. I want my mom and dad to see me as their innocent little girl. I want Thomas to see me as his blushing bride. I want Kade to see me as his proud Mama.

But that can never be. They will see me as a killer. That will be the last thing I give them. It's almost too much to bear. I look up at Elias. He looks as tortured as I do.

"Tell them..." I stop to collect myself. "Tell them to...remember me like I was...before all of this happened."

Elias looks away and rubs his eyes. "I'll do it, hon. I'll tell them that."

"Do you remember your promise, Elias?" I ask. "You still won't let them watch?"

Elias squeezes my hand. "I remember. I'll do what ya asked."

I nod. A speaker squeals on one side of the room, making me jump.

"Representatives, please take your positions on the launchpad," A squeaky voice says.

I'd know that voice anywhere. It's Thaddeus Pumpernickel.

Elias leads me to a door on one side of the room. When he opens it, I see a large round pad on the floor. The pad sits inside a clear plastic capsule. I assume this is how I will be lifted into the arena. I turn to Elias.

"Well, this is it," I say.

Elias grabs my shoulders and moves close to me, his face inches from mine.

"Remember the things I taught ya," he says urgently. "Ya need to have confidence. Everyone's got a weakness. Be careful who ya trust." He hugs me tightly. "I know I'll see ya again."

I hug him back, fresh tears escaping my eyes. Elias pulls away, grabbing my shoulders again.

"I told ya that I don't have much family left," he says. "I didn't tell ya that my wife and I...well...we always wanted us a little girl." He looks at the ground. "I feel like I finally got the daughter I wanted."

I cover my mouth to keep from sobbing again. This is so unfair - to Elias, to me, to everyone involved. How can I feel any more pain than I do right now?

I can't.

Then it hits me.

_This_ is the worst of the pain. I don't have to fear the pain of death or injury or hunger. The emotional price is the worst that I will pay. I will go into the arena and I will fight. I will face anything that comes because it can't be worse than this. I am emotionally scarred and broken. I would rather die a thousand deaths than feel this way again.

"I've made ya a promise," Elias says, "And I intend to keep it. Now I need you to promise me something."

"Anything," I say.

"Promise me that you'll try your best. Don't stop fighting, no matter what happens," he says.

I look him in the eyes.

"I promise."

I hope he knows that I mean it.

I step inside my launch capsule, and the door slides shut, trapping me inside. I put my hand on the clear plastic. Elias puts his hand against mine on the other side.

Thaddeus's voice blares from the speaker.

"You have one minute before launch!"

I hear a countdown begin, but I don't move. Elias doesn't either. We press our hands against the thin wall that separates us, wishing things were different. I use my other hand to wipe the remnants of my tears away. I can't take my eyes from Elias. I give him a small nod of assurance. He nods back.

Three...two...one.

My capsule begins to move. I let my hand fall. Elias presses both hands against the plastic as if he wants to rescue me. I watch him grow smaller as my capsule ascends. Just before he disappears from my sight, I see Elias cup his hands around his mouth.

"Be strong!" He yells.

And then I'm alone.


	20. Chapter 20: Bloodbath

**Chapter 20: Bloodbath**

The capsule travels slowly upward. It's so dark that I can't see my hands in front of my face. I know I have only seconds to prepare for what is going to happen, but my mind is blank. Soon, sunlight filters in from above. My adrenaline starts pumping. The top of the capsule reaches the surface. As the launch pad dwindles to a stop, I can see the arena for the first time.

There is a large metal contraption directly in front of me that must be the cornucopia. I see backpacks and weapons and food strewn all over the ground. The other 19 representatives and I are arranged in a circle around the cornucopia. I quickly scan the faces I see. Charles isn't there. I didn't really expect him to be, but it's still a disappointment. The area directly around the cornucopia is bare, packed dirt. I can see trees in the distance on every side. They look dense enough to hide in.

"Welcome to the arena, representatives!" booms Thaddeus Pumpernickel's voice. "Let the Games begin!"

Another countdown starts, giving us one minute to contemplate what we are going to do. I am shaking with anxiety, but I make myself form a plan. There are three backpacks between me and the cornucopia. There has to be a mace somewhere around here, even though I can't see it. I _have_ to look for it. It's worth the risk. I will grab the three backpacks and hope that they contain some food. I will find the mace, and I will run. I remember that Elias told me to run as soon as I can. I hope he won't be angry with me for trying to get to the mace. As the countdown nears its close, the clear wall around my launchpad begins to lower. I look around at the other representatives. They look terrified and unsure. I bet I look the same way.

Ten...nine...eight.

The wall is almost completely lowered. I position my feet so I can run.

Seven...six...five...four.

I spot a shiny object in the mouth of the cornucopia that might be my mace.

Three...

Two...

One.

I sprint from my launchpad as soon as the countdown ends. I reach the first backpack in seconds, and I scoop it up. Many of the other representatives are hesitant to move from their launchpads, and I am a fast runner. At this rate, I'll reach the cornucopia first. I reach for the second backpack and sling it over my left shoulder with the first. When I reach the third pack, I try to grab it without slowing down. I stumble when I feel its weight. It's three times as heavy as the other backpacks. I sling it over my shoulder with the first two, and it slows me down a bit. It also bangs against my side, causing me to gasp with pain. This is not the start I was hoping for.

I fix my eyes on the object in the cornucopia that could be my mace. I'm sure the other representatives are gaining on me now, but I know better than to try to look behind me. I plow into the mouth of the cornucopia. There are weapons everywhere. I see knives and spears and swords, but I don't care about these. I run straight for the object that caught my eye.

It's not a mace.

It's a small axe. I pick it up, slinging my head around in search of a mace. _What if there isn't one?_ I ask myself. _What if you risked this for nothing?_

My pause has allowed the other representatives to plunge into the cornucopia. For a moment, everyone is occupied with finding weapons and supplies. I spot Tanya from Alabama stuffing food into a backpack. I recognize a few other representatives from my training class, but I can't remember their names or states. I am frozen. I _need_ a mace. I won't leave here without it. A heavyset man runs to the weapons and grabs a sword. He swings it around haphazardly, hitting nothing. His show of aggression seems to remind everyone why we are here.

The chaos begins.

A skinny woman barrels at me with a knife. I jump out of her way and hurriedly sift through the supplies on the ground. Someone grabs my wrist and tries to wrench my axe away. I pull free and step farther into the cornucopia.

I see it.

The mace sits on a small box labelled "FRUIT". I reach my hand toward it...but the woman with the knife is back. She slashes at my arm before I can get my hands on the mace. I jerk back so she doesn't cut me. I raise my axe and look at her. She is wild with fear and rage. Her wavy blonde hair sticks to the tears on her face. She raises her knife and lets out a guttural yell. I can't think about what is happening. My adrenaline is in control. I act without thinking, striking with the axe before she can stab me. I hear a sickening crunch and close my eyes. Warm blood spatters my face. I let go of the axe and turn away before I open my eyes. I can't bear to see what I've just done.

My only thought is for the mace. I turn to retrieve it. As soon as I feel the cold metal in my hand, I am calmer. I turn to walk out of the cornucopia, deliberately dodging the body of the woman I've surely killed. I try to find a safe path to the trees, but that is impossible. Everyone wants to be in the cornucopia. I see people grabbing items and taking off, but most of the representatives are sifting through weapons very close to my only escape path. The heavyset man is still crazily swinging his sword. He is mostly ignored by the others. A young guy directly in front of me grabs a spear and stands up. We make eye contact and he prepares to throw the spear. I leap away from him and right into the path of a man with a club. The man roars at me. I duck under his first swing. I know I need to end this fast because the guy with the spear is probably still focused on me. I plow into the man's stomach, pushing as hard as I can. I hear a whoosh of air from him as I knock his breath away. He is much larger than me, so I can't push him far. I only manage to disrupt his balance a little.

That's all I need.

I strike with my mace, bashing him on the head. This time I have no choice but to wrench my mace free from his body. I almost vomit, but I try to control myself. _I'm alive,_ I think, _and I have my mace. Nothing else matters. _

I immediately turn and prepare to throw the mace at the man with the spear. But he isn't there. I don't have time to be relieved. The chaos at the cornucopia has turned into a bloodbath. Someone has stabbed the heavyset man, and he lies on the ground writhing and screaming. Men and women run around, yelling obscenities and blindly waving weapons. Some of the representatives are more collected. They determinedly grab items and attack only when they must. Less than a minute has passed since the countdown ended, but it feels like an eternity. I decide it's time for me to get out of here. Before I can run, I am grabbed from behind. A woman screams and tries to throw me to the ground. I spin out of her grasp and turn to face her. It is Tanya. She looks crazed and terrified. She waves a large sword threateningly. I raise my mace. Luckily, my weapon is smaller and faster. I make contact first. The mace crunches into Tanya's arm, making her drop the sword. She cries and yells, and I make myself put her out of her misery. I know she could not survive the wound I already inflicted. I shouldn't make her suffering last for days.

As I pull my mace away from Tanya's limp body, I hear light footsteps behind me. Immediately I turn and stand, mace raised for another fight.

I am face to face with Logan Reinhart.

He holds a bow in one hand. The other reaches back to retrieve an arrow from his quiver. He sees me and freezes. The look on his face is unreadable. I notice that he is clean and pristine. He isn't splattered with blood like me, holding a weapon covered in gore. He hasn't even broken a sweat.

I know I have the upper hand here. Logan has hesitated, giving me an easy chance to take him out.

But I don't.

I just stand there, looking like a wild maniac. I can't make myself kill him, not after he saved me from Miller. Not after he broke the rules to check on me. He doesn't make a move, but I can see his eyes dart to the side to find an escape. I sling the heavy backpack off my shoulder and right into his abdomen. I start to run as soon as the strap leaves my arm. Logan doubles over from the impact, but it doesn't injure him.

I take off toward the trees as fast as I can, changing my direction often to avoid attacks. As soon as the forest engulfs me, I begin to look for a tall tree. I'm pleased to see that the trees are all large, with many climbable branches. I run for a while, but I start to get thirsty. I don't know when I might find some water, so I slow down. I need to check my backpacks for supplies anyway. I choose the tallest tree that I can see, and I try to climb it. The packs are cumbersome, and I have nowhere to put my mace. After one try to lift myself onto the lowest branch, I realize this is a big problem. I decide to put one backpack over both of my shoulders. I loosen the straps of the other pack and position it on my shoulders on top of the first. Then I look at the mace. The sight of it makes me sick. I know I need to find a way to clean it. I stand very still, listening for any sound of running water. I hear nothing but shouts and screams from other representatives. I find a small patch of tall grass, and I run my mace through the green blades until it's relatively clean. I wedge the mace into the side pocket of a backpack and try to climb the tree again.

It's much easier now, but it still takes me a long time to reach a safe height. _This was much easier when I was a kid, _I think. Using my arms so strenuously has made my side start throbbing again. I settle onto the steadiest branch I can find, and I lay my head back. I try to relax. I try to make myself check the backpacks. I try to ignore the cries of the injured and dying.

All I can do is think about the people I just killed.

Three people.

I murdered three people.

I tell myself that they all would have killed me if I hadn't acted. I had to fight them to keep my family safe. I know I did what I had to, but I know it wasn't right. They didn't deserve to be here. They didn't deserve to die. I feel my eyes clouding with tears, but I hold them back. I've cried enough today. I look down at my hands. They are sticky with blood. I try to wipe them clean on the tree bark, but it's no use. I know my face and clothes are bloody too. There's nothing I can do about it. Even if I could wash it off, I would still feel dirty. I'm a murderer now. I have blood stains on my soul.

I take off the first backpack. Inside I find two packets of beef jerky, and a big box of raisins. There is a large water jug, too. It's empty.

The other backpack contains a knife, a box of matches, insect repellant, a can of tuna, and a spare pair of socks. I shrug my shoulders and hope some of it comes in handy. At least I have a little bit of food. I shove all the supplies into one backpack, folding the first pack up and storing it inside too. I decide to see if I can climb to a higher branch. I can't sit still. If I sit still I'll think.

I position myself to climb up to the next branch. I brace myself for the effort, and...

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

I jump and my feet slip. I hug the tree and try to regain my balance, glancing around warily for the source of sound. I lean against the tree as I remember one of Marda and Elias's lessons. There will be gunfire every time someone dies. I guess this is the announcement of the deaths that have taken place since the beginning of the games. I don't count how many shots are fired, but it goes on and on. I slide back down into a sitting position. I wonder where Charles is. I completely ignore the thought that one of those gunshots could have been for him. I want to start searching right away, but I'm sure he's hiding somewhere just like I am. It's smarter to wait for everyone to spread out into the arena a little, that way there's less chance of running into someone.

I force my body to get up and try to climb again. I manage to get up a few more branches, but I know I'm not going to be able to get as high as I need to. From my perch, I can see a much taller and sturdier tree. I decide to make my way down and find that one. The process takes much longer than I'd like.

Climbing down the tree is almost as hard as climbing up. When I'm a decent space from the ground, I dangle from a branch and let myself fall. I head in the direction of the tree I spotted. It isn't far. When I stand at the bottom of the giant tree, I look up to see how far I will have to climb. I groan. This will take forever.

It's not like I have anything else to do.

I need to keep my mind occupied anyway. I begin to climb. It's a little easier now that I've figured out the best way to go about it. I rest often, wishing I had some water. By the time I reach the upper branches, I can judge by the sun's position that it's around noon. I survey the arena from above, trying to find the cornucopia I started at. I spot it in the distance. It looks like a war zone. Nothing moves. Weapons are strewn all over the ground, but it looks like all of the food boxes and backpacks are gone. I don't see anything useful, but I can't stop staring.

The bodies are still there.

I can easily spot seven people lying motionless in the dirt. I know there is at least one more - the woman I killed inside the cornucopia. I can't see her body. I see the big man who was swinging the sword around. He lies in a crumpled position in a pool of blood. His sword is gone. I guess someone else thought they could use it. I try to pull my eyes away, but I feel like I deserve to see this. I should have to look at the pain I've caused. I wonder how much my victims' families hate me. I wonder if they were watching. I wonder if _my _family could bear to watch. I hope not.

I spot Tanya's body laying beside her sword.

Tanya.

It hurts more to be able to name one of the bodies. It makes my head swim. I remember the first time I saw Tanya. It was during the recaps of the reapings. I told Elias that she was just a person, not my competition. Now I've killed her. My, how things have changed in such a short time. I wonder if it's really just the circumstances that have forced me into a different mindset. It feels like _I _am different. As soon as Alanton told us we had to fight in order to keep our families safe, I was changed. When I picked up that mace, I was willing to kill with it. I didn't want to - thinking about it still disturbs me - but I was willing to. I can tell myself all day long that I only killed in defense of my own life, and that's true. But I had already resigned myself to the fact that I would be a murderer. I had already embraced that part of myself.

I became the killer before I ever killed.

The thought terrifies me. I continue staring at Tanya's body for a long time. I don't wipe away the tears that stream down my cheeks.

I don't move until the vultures start circling. I have to turn away then. I swallow over and over, trying to keep my meager breakfast down. I can't afford to lose any food now. When I've calmed my stomach, I search for any sign of the other launch sites. I see a break in the trees a long way off. Something metallic glints in the sun. It must be another cornucopia. I don't see any other signs. The starting points must be distanced quite a bit. There's no telling where Charles is. I judge that it's around 2:00 now. If I get started, I will probably make it to that other cornucopia before the sun sets. I know Charles won't be hanging out in the middle of the clearing, but maybe he'll spot me. He'll be looking for me. I make sure my backpack is settled securely on my shoulders and I prepare for my descent. I've barely climbed down two branches before a gun fires again. I hesitate. It occurs to me that not everyone is running and hiding right now. There are representatives - like Miller Hughes - who are on the hunt. I can't face Miller right now and survive. I'm tired and thirsty and emotionally drained. I sit down on a branch and nestle against the tree. I try not to think about how my physical and mental conditions are not likely to get any better. If I'm not strong enough to face Miller now, then what hope do I have?

I try to close my eyes and nap, but I'm scared to fall out of the tree. I doubt I could sleep anyway. I take out the box of raisins and nibble on a few. I climb back up to a higher branch and look for signs of water. I don't see anything. I watch another representative run underneath my tree. He doesn't notice me. I guess I've found a good place to hide. Unfortunately, I'm going stir crazy. I need to _do _something. Right before sunset, I decide to climb out of the tree. I need to find some water, and I can't sit still any longer. Miller will be less likely to find me in the dark.

I hope.

I get about halfway down the tree when I hear a speaker click on. I can't tell where it is, but it sounds close.

"Attention representatives!" Echoes Thaddeus Pumpernickel's voice. "It is time for today's announcement of the fallen."

His voice booms from every side. There must be hundreds of speakers hidden in this forest. I quickly sit down on a branch and pull out the list Elias gave me this morning. I uncap the marker and prepare to... what? Mark the names off like it's a grocery list? Put check marks beside their names like my kindergarten teacher did when we were naughty?

I decide to put a small dot by each name.

Thaddeus begins, "From Alabama, Tanya Brady."

Great. The very first person is one I killed. I put a shaky dot by her name. Thaddeus continues with his list. Both Alaska representatives have survived. One of the Arizona representatives has died. I try to listen without emotion, but almost every state is missing one member. When I hear that Anya from Kentucky has been killed, I shake my head. She probably didn't even fight. The list creeps closer to Mississippi. My heart pounds. My stomach clenches. I tell myself to breathe. In...out...in...out...in...

"From Mississippi, Charles Midden."

I drop my marker and scream.

**A/N: Sorry guys :( it's not the Hunger Games unless it hurts.**


	21. Chapter 21: Water

**Chapter 21: Water**

I am hysterical. I sob. I scream. I beat my hands on the tree. I can't compose myself. I don't even try.

Charles is dead.

Thaddeus is done with the rest of the announcements before I can think clearly enough to listen. I curl up in a ball on my tree branch and cry. I don't try to be quiet. I hope someone hears me. I hope they come. I want to be out of here.

Charles was my last shred of hope. I already knew I would die, but I thought maybe - just _maybe _- I could save Charles somehow. It kept me going more than I realized. I think of Charles. His body is laying in this arena somewhere, being circled by vultures. He is cold and alone. I wonder who killed him. I guess I'll never know. When I finally open my eyes and sit up, night has fully descended. I hear small animals scampering through the forest, but mostly there is silence. No one comes for me. No one will put me out of my misery. I realize I'm shivering. I don't know if it's from the cold or from my body's inability to cope with this situation. It has gotten chilly since the sun went down. I can't make myself care. I lean against the tree and look at the stars. The unchanging sky calms me a little. I remember my last conversation with Charles, where I promised to keep trying if he died. I mentally kick myself for agreeing to that. I turn my head from side to side, trying to find a comfortable way to sleep.

Yeah right.

I'm cold, I'm thirsty, I'm twenty feet in the air, and my only ally is dead. I'm not getting any rest tonight.

For ages I sit and do nothing. My whole body is numb from the cold. I burrow into my jacket, tucking my knees and hands inside. I hear noises in the distance. At first, I assume the sounds are from other representatives moving in the forest. Once the sounds grow louder, I realize that can't be it. Surely no one would be stupid enough to go around making that much noise. I stand up and climb to a higher branch. The cold, darkness, and soreness of my arms and sides make me even slower than I was earlier.

When I finally reach the branch I was aiming for, I look around, searching the arena for the source of the sounds. It's not hard for me to spot. I can see people with flashlights swarming all around the cornucopia that I started at. It takes my eyes a while to adjust to the moving lights. I can see that all of the bodies are gone, and the weapons and supplies that nobody took are being picked up. I notice that a group of people are doing something to the cornucopia itself. After a few minutes, they all step away. The cornucopia begins to lower into the ground. Once it's gone, a hatch slides closed and the workers begin covering it with dirt. I can easily spot the other four cornucopias around the arena now. The bright flashlights are small glimmers in the distance, but I can only assume that the same tasks are being performed at the other launch sites. I watch the people mill around for a while, but nothing interesting happens. I decide to crawl back down to a safer height. Climbing is awkward in the dark, and I can barely see each branch as I lower on to it. I settle on a branch about ten feet from the forest floor. I doubt anyone will spot me, and I don't really care if they do. I bundle up inside my jacket and close my eyes. I fall into a restless sleep, jerking awake every few minutes. I dream of Charles. I see his death a hundred different ways, all of them gruesome and painful. I often wake up with tears streaming down my face.

At dawn, I give up on my fitful slumber. I eat a few more raisins, though I don't feel hungry at all. I make sure I haven't forgotten anything, and I climb out of the tree. There is barely enough light for me to see where I step. I try to form some kind of plan, but I feel so lost. My entire plan was based on Charles. I never accepted the fact that we might not find each other. I am overwhelmed with hopelessness. I try to keep from crying again. I can't spare the water.

Of course, it doesn't work.

I clamber through the forest, trying to be quiet. My eyesight is hindered by darkness and tears. I trip over roots and shrubs. I sniffle so loud that I'm sure every person can hear me for a mile around. Soon I lean against a tree to try and put myself together. I can't keep going like this. I breathe in the cool morning air and close my eyes. I have to get it together. I made Charles a promise, and the only thing I can do for him now is to keep it. I have to keep trying.

I open my eyes and look around. I guess my first goal should be to find water. Unfortunately, I have no idea how to do that. I suppose I'll just pick a direction and start walking.

I choose to go left. As I walk, I notice a few plants weighed down with berries. I stop to examine them. After only seconds, I am certain that the plants are blueberry bushes. I pick some berries and look at them closely. It's the wrong season for blueberries. I'm not sure how the gamemakers forced them to grow in this environment. I bend down and look at the base of the bush. Unpacked dirt is piled all around it. I can only assume that the plant was recently put here. It must have been grown in a greenhouse and then transplanted. From the looks of the leaves, it won't live long in this climate. I gather as many berries as I can. I stuff the front pocket of the backpack with berries, and I put some in my jacket pockets too. I don't really feel like eating, but I pop a few into my mouth just for something to do. Once I'm sure the bush is picked clean, I stand up and nestle my backpack on my shoulders. I sigh. I really shouldn't walk around unarmed.

The thought of killing again makes my head swim. That doesn't change things, though. If I want to keep Kade safe, then I'll have to fight. I pull my mace from the backpack. The sight of it sickens me, but the metal in my hand makes me calmer. I stride off into the forest again.

I spend most of the day walking. After a few hours, my worries and fears are replaced by thirst. By noon, I can't think of anything but water. I chew on blueberries for the moisture, but it doesn't help much. I hear four gunshots while I walk, but they don't bother me much. I know that these are not for Charles, so why should I care? I stop for a rest at what I judge to be 2:00. I find a patch of dense shrubbery and hide myself in it the best I can. My stomach is starting to growl despite my near constant consumption of blueberries. I would like to eat some of the beef jerky in my pack, but the salt would only dehydrate me faster. I sit for a long time, debating what I should do. I've walked a long way, surely I'm close to a water source. I should just continue in the same direction until I reach a barrier telling me I can't go any further. But what if the only water source is in the opposite direction? I'll be too weak to walk if I don't drink something within the next 24 hours. I pull leaves off a nearby plant while I argue with myself.

Suddenly, something rustles nearby. I freeze. Listening intently, I can tell that the rustling continues in a steady pattern.

Footsteps.

I silently huddle deeper into my patch of shrubs. The footsteps come closer and closer. They belong to a man. A boy, really. He must be one of the youngest representatives. He is tall and skinny, with a small blue backpack on his shoulders. He doesn't hold a weapon, but I know that doesn't mean he's unarmed. He walks by my hiding place without a glance. I see the word "Lee" written on his back. I don't recognize the name. I know I could kill him now. I have the element of surprise. If the boy has a weapon, he would lose valuable time trying to dig it out of his backpack. I would win this fight.

I don't move, though. I hold my breath and stare as the boy walks out of sight. When he's a safe distance away, I relax. I get up, dust myself off, and start walking once again.

In another two hours, I am miserable. My muscles are so sore. I can't tell if it's from all of the strenuous activity or from the lack of water. I want to sit down and rest, but I know I can't spare the time. I need to find something to drink before nightfall. I can't traipse around in the dark looking for water. I hear six more gun shots before the sky starts to darken. I lean against a tree, wishing I could see the sunset. I hear frogs croaking nearby, and it reminds me of home. I lay my head back, and I close my eyes to listen. When I was little, my parents lived near a pond that was filled with frogs. I could hear them every night while I went to sleep. My mom told me they were singing me a lullaby.

My eyes snap open.

Frogs.

Pond.

Water.

I start to run.

As soon as I see the little pool, I fall to my knees and bring handfuls of water to my mouth. I remember the jug in my backpack, and I sit down to pull it out. I fill the jug and lounge against a nearby tree, drinking my fill. A gun fires twice more in quick succession, but I barely even acknowledge it. I take out a piece of beef jerky and gobble it down. I take a second piece and force myself to put the rest away. At sunset, Thaddeus's voice reads out the names of the representatives who have died today. I don't even bother to take out my list. I never searched for my marker, and I didn't listen to most of yesterday's announcement, so there's really no way for me to keep up with who's left.

I refill my water jug and climb into a nearby tree. My outlook is much better now that my thirst is satisfied. I close my eyes and quickly fall asleep. I dream of Charles in his dark green coffin, making his way home.


	22. Chapter 22: Ready

**Chapter 22: Ready**

I awaken at dawn. I can't believe I slept so long without falling out of the tree. As soon as I try to move, I realize why I didn't fall. I must not have moved all night. My body is sore everywhere. I start doing some of the stretches Elias taught me after my fight with Miller. Once I'm able to move freely, I descend the tree at a snail's pace. With my feet on the ground, I feel better. I refill my water jug in the pool, and I try to decide what to do next. I sit down, eat a few pieces of beef jerky, and finish off my stash of blueberries. I notice that the pool in front of me is fed by a stream. The pool ends in a drop off, where the water falls and continues downstream. I can either follow the water upstream or downstream. I'm not sure it matters which I choose.

Before I start walking, I decide to bathe. The water is frigid, but I want to feel clean again. I take off my jacket and boots, hiding them with my backpack in a small patch of underbrush. I take my mace out and bring it with me to the water's edge. I plunge my hands into the water and rub them vigorously, washing away all traces of blood. I wash my mace off too, and then I rinse my face. I swish water around in my mouth and use a finger to brush my teeth. I could strip out of my pants and t-shirt, but I'm too self conscious about my bruised sides. I don't want my family and my sponsors to think I'm at a disadvantage. I roll up my pants as high as they will go and stick my legs in the pool. I wade in as far as I can before my teeth start chattering. I should have waited until the temperature warmed up a little. Oh, well. Too late now.

When I turn to wade back to dry ground, I freeze. A man stands beside the tree I slept in. He holds an empty water jug in one hand and a knife in the other. He has no other supplies. I can tell by the way his eyes dart between me and the pool that he hasn't had anything to drink since we entered the arena. He is bigger than me, but he doesn't look athletic at all. He holds his knife up defensively, but it's obvious that he doesn't know how to use it well. He holds it gingerly, as if he's afraid to hurt himself. I glance at my mace sitting on the dry bank. I know I can reach it and kill the guy before he can hurt me.

I just don't know if I want to.

The man only wants some water. He's not coming at me, yelling and hacking with a weapon like the people I killed at the cornucopia. I slowly raise my hands in surrender. He can have all the water he wants, just as long as he doesn't try anything. I slowly move to get out of the pool.

"Stop!" The man yells. "Don't move!" He points the knife at me.

"Whoa!" I say. "I know you need water. I'll just get out and you can have all you'd like." I take a step toward the water's edge.

"NO!" The man says, taking a step back. "I know you. You're that girl from Mississippi who got a nine. There's no way I'm letting you get to that weapon."

I drop my hands. I guess I have a reputation now. I don't really know how to handle this. We can't stand here forever. He'll dehydrate and I'll freeze to death.

"Look," I say, "I won't hurt you if-"

Apparently the man has had enough. He barrels at me with the knife raised, yelling what I presume to be a battle cry. I have no choice but to react.

I take two big strides to reach my mace. As soon as I bend to pick it up, I prepare for a throw. As I stand I release the mace and watch as it flies toward the man. He realizes too late how I got my nine in training. I look away as the mace lodges in his head. A few seconds pass and a gun fires. He is dead.

I walk to the body and pull out my mace, nearly losing my breakfast. I drag myself back to the pool and wash again. I scrub my arms and hands even though no blood stains them. I wash the mace over and over until no trace of gore remains. I even wash my feet again. I stay at the pool at least another hour, scrubbing and cleaning things that will never be clean again. I try to cry over the man. I try to make myself look at the name on the back of his jacket. I want to hurt for him. I want to curl up in a hole and mourn for what I've done. I don't want killing to ever be easy. It's not something to just look past or put off as necessary. This man was a real person - a son, a brother, maybe a father.

But I can't make myself feel anything. I'm emotionally dead. I've said too many good byes. I've killed too many people.

I've lost myself.

As I sit and look at my hands, chapped from the cold scrubbing, I know that no water will uncover the girl I used to be. I stand and walk to my supplies, deliberately avoiding the body of the man I've killed. I put on my socks and boots, my jacket, and my backpack. I still haven't decided which way to go. If I go downstream, I will have to walk past the body.

Upstream it is.

For the rest of the day, I make my way through the forest, keeping the stream in sight. I climb trees to rest and I search for more blueberry bushes. In the afternoon, I see a woman walk under a tree that I'm perched in. In the early evening, I hide in some bushes to avoid a man. When night falls, I climb a tree and finish off my first package of beef jerky. I'm starting to feel the effects of hunger. I don't have as much strength as I did, and I tire more easily. So far, I'm handling it better than I thought. I'm not sure what to do when I run out of beef jerky, raisins, and tuna. Maybe I'll try one of the easy snares Elias taught me. I can't remember it very well, though.

It doesn't matter. I probably won't live that long anyway.

I put that thought aside.

Thaddeus Pumpernickel makes the nightly announcement of the dead. I wonder which is the name of the man I killed. I shift around for hours in the tree, trying to get comfortable. I think about Kade and Thomas. I hope Elias is taking care of them. I hope my mom and dad aren't taking this too hard. Maybe they aren't ashamed of me for becoming a killer. Maybe they still love me.

Maybe.

My mind drifts for a long time before I fall asleep.

In the morning I finish off my raisins. I walk out to the stream to refill my water jug and to rinse my mouth. I'm starting to really miss my toothbrush. I walk, mace in hand, for hours. I wonder why I even bother. I don't have anything to do. I don't have to find Charles. I should just pick a tree and stay there until someone spots me and kills me. If I keep moving and fighting, then I'm just prolonging my suffering.

But I made a promise.

By midday I'm hungry enough to crack open my can of tuna. I don't pay much attention to the food, I just close my eyes and savor the momentary relief from my growling stomach. When I open my eyes again, the can is empty. I've eaten all of it. I mentally kick myself. I only have one pack of beef jerky left. That will last a day. Two at the most. I shake my head. Starvation is not an option. I don't want to die like that.

I resolve that I won't eat another thing until tomorrow. Maybe I'll run across some berries before dark. I continue walking through the forest. I refill my water bottle several times. I know I'm trying to compensate for my hunger by drinking more. I also know it isn't working. I hear my stomach growling in constant complaint. By mid-afternoon I'm thinking about opening my beef jerky. Just before my willpower breaks, I spot a blueberry bush. It's been picked over, and there aren't many berries left. That doesn't bother me at all. I bend down, looking everywhere for berries to shove in my mouth. I make more noise than I should, rustling the bush with my desperate search.

I don't hear the footsteps until it's too late.

When I notice the approach I leap to my feet, brandishing my mace and a mouthful of berries. An arrow is pointed directly at my face. I know I should try to throw my mace or run away in an attempt to dodge a misplaced arrow. But I know this arrow won't be misplaced.

Logan Reinhart holds the bow.

He stares at me, and I know he will kill me at any moment. There is nothing I can do. I swallow the berries and let my arms dangle at my sides. The mace is useless now. I watch Logan, waiting for him to react. His face is dirty, and his blonde hair is a tangled mess, but he still looks healthy and uninjured. Maybe he will manage to beat Miller. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I think of my parents and my husband. I think of Elias and Charles and James.

I think of Kade.

I picture his sweet little face. I remember his first words and his first steps. I was more proud of those small accomplishments than I've ever been of anything I did in my whole life. I am honored to have lived this life. Not many people are loved like I have been.

I seal it all away.

I'm ready.

"Are you alone?" Logan asks in a strained voice.

My eyes pop open in confusion.

"Yes," I say.

Logan shifts his stance, but his aim never wavers.

"Are you sure?" He asks.

I nod, raising an eyebrow. Why doesn't he just get this over with?

Logan suddenly jerks the bow upward and shoots. I am too shocked to react. I just stand there and watch as his arrow travels into a tree behind me. I hear a stunned squeal. A woman falls from the tree and hits the ground with a thud.

I am still processing these events when the gun fires. I turn to Logan, expecting to see another arrow nocked and ready for me. He slings his bow onto his shoulder and approaches. I take a few steps back, raising my mace. Logan extends his hand.

"You're not alone anymore," he says.


	23. Chapter 23: Alliance

**Chapter 23: Alliance**

I stare at Logan's outstretched hand for a long moment. I can't make sense of what just happened. It appears that Logan has chosen to let me live, for the moment at least. I still don't know if he's trustworthy, but I don't have a lot of options right now. If I refuse his hand, then he might change his mind about sparing my life.

I place my hand in his. His large fingers engulf mine in a tight squeeze.

"Are you hungry?" Logan asks, looking at the blueberry bush that I picked clean.

I nod sheepishly. I should be stronger than this. I should be able to beat the hunger. If anyone but Logan had walked up, I'd be dead right now over a few berries. Come to think of it, that woman in the tree would have probably killed me. I look over at the body. I don't recognize her, but I can see a throwing star still clutched in her hand. I guess I owe Logan.

Again.

Logan slings his backpack off his shoulders. I recognize it as the pack I threw at him at the cornucopia. He pulls a few small pieces of meat from the front pocket.

"Here," Logan says. He hands me the meat. "It's all I have left from a rabbit I shot yesterday."

It's all I can do not to cram the meat in my mouth that instant.

"What else do you have?" I ask.

Logan shrugs. "That's it." I notice the longing glance he gives to the food. "We'll find something else. Maybe that woman has something."

He walks over to the body and begins a thorough investigation of her pockets. He comes back empty handed. I hold the meat out to him.

"This is yours." I tell him. "I'll be alright."

"No!" Logan says. "We'll hunt. We'll get something else. Go on and eat it."

My mind is reeling. What's going on? Has he poisoned the meat? Is he trying to get me to admit that I have some food so he can take it from me? And why does he keep saying "we" are going to do things?

I divide the meat the best I can. I offer him one half.

"Fine," I say. "We'll share."

Logan seems satisfied. He takes his half and puts it back in the backpack. I gobble mine down immediately. I don't really care if it's poisoned. Logan watches me in amusement.

"What?" I say.

"Nothing," he replies and looks away.

I wipe some juice from my chin and lick my fingers. I don't know what to say or do now. I need to get away from Logan, but I don't know how.

"Ready to move on?" Logan asks.

I make sure my backpack is secure on my shoulders and my mace sits comfortably in my hand. Maybe I can run off when Logan isn't looking. I can kill him if he tries anything. I'm prepared now. I have the advantage.

Logan and I make our way through the forest for the rest of the afternoon. He leads me away from the stream, which I don't like, but I say nothing. I think I can find my way back. Logan looks at me often, leaving me with few chances to run. When the sky starts growing dimmer, he turns to face me. I raise my mace in defense, wondering why he's decided to attack now. He knots his eyebrows.

"I'm not going to fight you," He says. "I was just going to say that we should head to the campsite."

I lower my mace, but only a small amount.

"Campsite?" I ask.

Logan gives me a smile and starts walking. "Yep," he says.

I sigh in exasperation. Now I'm curious. I follow him closely, making sure I don't lose sight of him in the growing darkness. Soon, Logan pauses to lean against a tree. I look around.

"I don't see a campsite," I say.

"That's because we aren't there yet," Logan replies. He pulls out a sheet of paper and a gray marker. "It's almost time for the announcement."

"Oh," I say stupidly. I don't bother to pull out my paper.

"Aren't you going to mark your sheet?" Logan says.

I sit my backpack down and rest my head against a nearby tree. "No," I say. "I lost my marker."

Logan nods. "Okay, you can use mine when we get to the tent."

I shrug in bewilderment. This guy is working awfully hard to be nice to someone he's supposed to kill. Wait a second.

"You _made_ a tent?" I say, impressed.

"No way!" Logan laughs. "It was in the backpack you threw at me."

I roll my eyes. Of course it was.

I could've had a tent this whole time, but instead I gave a shelter to one of my greatest opponents. Apparently I'm going to benefit from it now, so I guess there's no need to beat myself up over it.

Thaddeus makes the announcement for the day. I hardly listen, but Logan scribbles studiously on his sheet.

"Eight more today," Logan says with a sigh.

I use my fingernail to pick at some tree bark. "How many does that make in all?"

"Sixty-one," Logan says, rubbing his eyes.

I gasp. _Sixty-one._ Sixty-one people are dead. I don't know why I'm so surprised. I knew this would happen. It just seems like _so many._ I guess it makes sense, if everyone went nuts at the other cornucopias like they did at mine. There were a lot of deaths on the first day. Like Charles.

"Are you okay?" Logan asks. He looks at me with concern. I wonder if it's fake.

"I'm fine," I say, and I put the backpack on again. "Let's go."

Logan leads me to an area full of tall, dense underbrush. The grass and shrubs come almost to my chest. Logan plunges into the green mass and beckons for me to follow.

"Be careful," he says. "Try not to disturb anything."

I tread as lightly as I can, avoiding twigs and vines. Soon, we come to a small space that must be the "campsite." The plants here have been cut down or stomped on, making a somewhat level area for the tent to sit. The undergrowth surrounds the space on every side. No one will be able to find us here unless they stumble upon us. Even in that case, we'd hear someone trampling through the bushes before they reach us. This was a very good idea.

Logan looks at me self consciously.

"Is this alright?" He asks. "I mean, I know people can still see us from the trees, but I think we're pretty safe. We could move somewhere else if-"

"This is really great," I say, interrupting him. "I never would have thought of it."

Logan smiles. He takes off his backpack and pulls out the small tent. I try to help him set it up, but he does most of the work. The tent is just large enough for both of us to lie down, though we can't stretch out our legs. The front flap is completely transparent, allowing us to see out while we're inside.

"That's awfully nice of them," I say sarcastically. "I'm surprised they gave us a window."

Logan smiles ruefully. "I don't think it was for our benefit. It's so the cameras can still see us."

I frown. He's probably right. I haven't thought much about being filmed since I entered the arena, but I'm sure today's events have brought Logan and I quite a bit of attention.

I crawl into the tent first, watching Logan carefully while he's behind me. He shows no signs of aggression. When we're inside, I start to feel awkward. Logan sits beside me, almost touching his shoulder to mine. I realize this is a necessity, considering the size of the tent, but I don't know what to say or do. I don't know this guy, and I don't trust him. How am I supposed to make it through a whole night stuck in an enclosed space with him?

Logan pulls out his list of representatives and his marker.

"Here, you can get your sheet back on track," he says.

I nod and pull my list out. Just unfolding it makes my heart ache. The last name I marked was the woman from Minnesota. I can see how shaky my hand had become. The dot beside her name looks more like a lightning bolt. I look at Logan's list. I guess he didn't feel right about marking through the names either. The representatives who died have small X's beside their names. I catch my list up slowly, trying not to think about what I'm doing. I notice that Anya, Logan's fellow representative from Kentucky, has a star beside her name on his list. I glance at Logan. He is staring outside through the clear flap, keeping watch. The moonlight filters in just enough that I can see the sad look on his face. I wonder, as I have wondered before, if his kindness is not just an act.

I put a tiny star by Charles's name.

Filling in the bottom half of my list takes some time. I note with sadness that the woman from Tennessee has died. Of course, Miller is still alive. Eleanor Hoffberg has survived as well. I fold Logan's list up and hand it back to him with his marker.

"Thanks," I say.

He smiles. "You're welcome."

He sets his list aside and pulls the remaining rabbit meat out of his backpack.

"Here, you can have some more," he says, offering the biggest piece to me.

"Absolutely not," I say and push his hand away. "Please, just eat it." I sound more aggravated than I mean to, but I wish he'd quit offering me the stupid rabbit. It's his food, and I don't feel right about taking it.

Logan doesn't argue further. He quickly eats the meat, making my mouth water. I almost pull out my beef jerky, but I don't want to show Logan my supplies. I don't like sharing as much as he does. When Logan finishes eating, he pulls a large combat knife from his backpack. I jump up, nearly knocking the tent down before Logan grabs my arm.

"Chill out!" He says urgently.

I try to jerk my arm away, but Logan drops the knife and grasps my other wrist, pulling me towards him. I am forced to drop to my knees, in a position where I can't use my legs to defend myself. I'm trapped.

I am eye to eye with Logan. He is much too close.

But he isn't killing me.

I stop struggling. Logan breathes heavily. I feel a small burst of satisfaction that such a large guy had to exert some energy to subdue me.

"Listen, Corenn," he says. "I'm _not_ going to hurt you. I'm NOT. I promise."

He lets go of my arms and they drop to my sides. Either this guy is a good actor or...

He's not acting.

"I just got the knife out so I could keep watch," he says. "The bow won't be any good to me at close range."

I swallow and grab my mace, clenching it in my fist. "Okay, I'll help you watch."

Logan glances at me as I settle back into a seated position. I scoot as far away from him as I can get. Logan sighs.

"I was going to keep watch so you could sleep," He says, "But I can see that you don't trust me enough for that."

I stare at him. He looks truly offended. I'm not sure what to say. He's completely correct. There's _no way_ I'm sleeping in close proximity to a stranger with a knife. I don't want to make him angry, though, and...honestly, I don't want to hurt his feelings either. Some part of me is aware that Logan has had plenty of opportunities to kill me if he wanted to. He's also saved me more than once. I owe him quite a few debts. I just can't bring myself to trust him. Both of us won't make it out of this arena, and I know which one of us has the better shot.

It isn't me.

"Sorry," I say, looking away from Logan's eyes. "How about I keep watch while you sleep?"

Logan says nothing for a few moments. He stares at me, trying to read my mind as I'm trying to read his. He knows I'm afraid he'll kill me, but is he afraid that I'll kill him? He saw me at the cornucopia. He knows I can do it. But he also knows that I didn't kill him that day, and I had the chance.

Soon, Logan stretches out as far as he can, which isn't far. He gives me a pointed look and then turns over, facing his back to me. I roll my eyes. He's showing me that he trusts me. Or maybe he's showing me that he doesn't care if he dies. I shrug. It doesn't matter. I will wait for him to fall asleep, and then I'll run. If I run all night, I can get far enough away that I won't bump into Logan again.

I sit and stare into the night. At first I grip my mace tightly at the ready, but nothing happens. I hear nothing and see nothing for so long that I grow tired. I set the mace beside me and keep one hand on it, just in case. I notice Logan's even breathing on the other side of the tent. He's asleep.

This is my chance.

My eyelids are drooping, but I make myself quietly gather my things. I sling my backpack on my shoulders and inch toward the clear tent flap. I get the flap unzipped without waking Logan, and I prepare to step out.

I take one look back at Logan's sleeping form, and I pause. The moonlight streams in just enough for me to see his face. In sleep, his features are relaxed and restful. He doesn't look sad or hurt or angry.

He looks innocent.

I can see his knife laying where he haphazardly threw it earlier. If someone barged in this tent, I doubt he could find it in time. He is relying on me for his protection. I tell myself that this is the Hunger Games. No one is safe. I should just go. It's his own fault for trusting me.

But I can't make my legs move. I can't stop staring at Logan. He is a handsome man, of course, I noticed that the first time I saw him, but in sleep he looks like a little boy. I think of Kade and his sweet sleeping face. I am reminded that Logan is someone's son. He is someone's little boy. If it were Kade in here, I'd want someone strong to protect him. I'd hate any person who left him betrayed or vulnerable.

I sit down between Logan's feet and the open tent flap. I rub my eyes over and over again. Logan stirs in his sleep and mumbles something unintelligible. I sigh. I'm not going anywhere. I will stay here until Logan gives me a reason to leave. If he threatens me or asks to end our alliance, then I'll consider him an opponent just like everyone else. I'll do what I have to do then.

But for now...

I glance again at Logan's face. He smiles softly, as if he is having pleasant dreams. I zip the tent. I turn around and stare into the night, willingly facing my back to Logan for the first time.

For now I will keep watch.

There are worse things to die for.


	24. Chapter 24: Committed

**Chapter 24: Committed**

I doze off a few times in the night, but I jerk my eyes open as soon as my head droops. When the sun starts rising, Logan wakes up. He rolls onto his back and stretches, nearly hitting me in the face with his arm. He turns toward me and opens his eyes. I can see the reality of our situation flooding back into his face. I feel bad for him. He glances out of the tent and then at me.

"Why didn't you wake me up to keep watch?" he says in a groggy voice.

I shrug. "I was fine."

Logan rolls his eyes. "If you say so." He fetches his knife and puts it in his backpack. "I don't know about you, but I'm hungry. I think we should hunt today."

"Hunt?" I say. "I'm not sure I'll be very helpful."

Logan smiles. "Sure you will. I'll teach you what you need to know."

I nod. I don't want to tell him that Elias already tried to teach me what I needed to know, and I wasn't any good at it.

Together, we disassemble the tent and place it in Logan's backpack. I follow him through the jumble of bushes and grass until the undergrowth is sparse enough for us to walk side by side. Logan says I already have a good silent step, so I should be a decent hunter in no time. I don't argue, but I know he's going to be disappointed. He gives me his bow and an arrow, telling me to aim at a nearby tree for a few practice shots. I do as he says.

I am pleasantly surprised to note that I can pull the bow string without much pain, though it takes a lot of effort. I aim at the tree and shoot.

The arrow flies off into a nearby bush.

Logan bites his lip. "That was a good try," he says, and heads off to fetch the arrow.

I try two more times to shoot the tree before Logan gets tired of searching for the arrows.

"Maybe you're more of a snare person," he says.

I agree. He shows me how to rig a snare out of twigs and vines. I'm pretty sure Elias showed me how to do this, and it seemed a lot easier then. I can replicate everything Logan shows me, but somehow his snares look much more professional than mine. We rig a number of snares in discreet places far enough from our campsite that no one could track us if they discovered them. Then we head out in search of game. I follow Logan closely, but soon I'm asking him if we can rest. By noon, I've asked for a rest three times.

Logan slings his backpack off his shoulders. "Corenn, you need some sleep." He gives me the pack. "Go back to the campsite and rest for a while. I'll keep hunting out here so you won't have to be so nervous about me."

I let the heavy pack dangle in my hand. I want to go to sleep. Very much. But I can't bring myself to leave while Logan is out here trying to keep us from starving. I shake my head and try to hand him the backpack.

"Your feet are getting so heavy that you're scaring off the game," Logan says, refusing to take the pack.

I know that isn't true, but I can't think of the right words to say in my defense. I won't go back to the campsite. I would feel guilty, and however much I hate to admit it, I don't want to separate from Logan. I've committed myself to this alliance now, and I want to see it through. I don't think I could stand it if Logan died because I needed a nap.

"I'm not going," I say stubbornly.

"Fine," Logan says, throwing up his hands and taking the backpack. "You have got to be the most stubborn woman I have ever met." He takes off at a faster pace than before.

I struggle to keep up, and I know better than to ask for a rest again. By mid-afternoon, that tent idea is sounding pretty good. I catch up to Logan and put a hand on his arm.

"Listen," I say. "Why don't I just nap in a tree around here? You can wake me in an hour or so."

Logan stops and raises his eyebrows. "You want to nap in a tree?"

"Sure," I say. "I slept in trees every night until you found me."

Logan nods. He seems impressed. "Okay. I'll keep hunting."

I pick a sturdy tree and climb up to the lowest branch that will hold my weight. I'm too tired and hungry to go any higher. Logan watches my progress, and when I settle on my branch he gives me a little wave.

"I won't be far away," he says.

"Wake me in an hour," I call as he walks away.

I don't wait for his reply. I settle back and close my eyes, falling immediately to sleep.

I awaken to a rustling sound at the bottom of the tree. When I open my eyes I can tell that far more than an hour has passed. The sky is starting to darken, and my body is stiff enough that I know I haven't moved in ages. I hear a hushed voice whispering below me. I look down, preparing to scold Logan for letting me sleep so long.

Only, it isn't Logan.

Two men stand at the base of the tree, pointing in opposite directions and arguing.

"I saw him go that way," the first guy whispers.

"No, dude, I swear it was this way," says the second guy.

This goes on for quite some time while I hold my breath and try not to move. I'm not high enough to hope that they won't see me. If they just glance upward, I'm done for. I see that one of the guys has a throwing knife in his hand. If he's any good, he can easily hit me from this distance.  
"We're wasting time," the man with the knife says. "Just pick a direction and let's go. We can't let him get away."

The second man shrugs. "Give it up, man. Reinhart isn't gonna go down this easy. It's getting late anyway." The man glances toward the setting sun. I clench my eyes shut. _Don't look at me, don't look at me, don't look at me._

"HEY!" He shouts in a startled voice. "Someone's up there!"

Of course.

I clench my mace in my hands and stand up on the branch as quickly as I can. I suppose I should try to take out the guy with the knife, although he is making no move to attack. He is gaping stupidly at me. The other guy is quickly pulling a small club from his backpack. I'm not sure what he thinks he's going to do with that.

I hold on to the tree for balance. I don't think I can throw the mace with enough force to kill someone without falling myself. I probably wouldn't die from the fall, but I could break a leg or something. And I can only kill one of them. I have a knife in my backpack that I could try and throw at the other guy, but I would miss. It's not a throwing knife. Even if it was, I'd probably still miss. I'll have to climb down, and I'll either be stabbed or beaten to death before I can defend myself.

Well, this is it.

This is how I die. Logan has abandoned me to these two idiots, and now they're going to kill me. I never should have trusted Logan. If I would have run away in the night I'd be far from here by now.

The guys are slowly realizing that they've unwittingly trapped me. I can see the smiles on their faces and it makes me sick. They won't feel guilty about my death. Not for a second. The guy with the knives picks one out and waves it at me tauntingly. I sneer at him. I don't care if I fall out of this tree and get beaten to death with a club, I'm throwing my mace at that guy. I plant my feet as solidly as I can. I bring my mace back in preparation for a throw. The guy with the knife looks less sure than before. It has dawned on him that I might have decent aim. He quickly raises his knife and -

An arrow hits him directly in the head.

So much happens in the next few moments that I don't have time to think. The guy with the knife drops to the ground and a gun fires. His friend raises his club at me as if I've done something. An arrow pierces him in the chest. The gun fires before he hits the forest floor. I am still standing, mace raised and mouth gaping, when I hear a tree rustling nearby.

I jerk around, searching for the source of the noise. Logan is slowly descending from a large tree a few yards away. I put both arms around my tree and sag against it. These near death experiences are starting to take their toll. I feel tears streaming down my cheeks, but I don't even remember starting to cry. I lower myself into a seated position, choking out heavy sobs.

"Corenn?" Logan says softly. "Are you alright?" He stands at the base of my tree, looking troubled.

I ignore him. Of course I'm not alright. When have things ever been less alright? I'm starving. I almost died today, yesterday, and the day before. My teammate is dead. I have no hope of surviving much longer, and I have to keep fighting to save a family I will never see again.

Yeah, I'm alright.

"Corenn, come down," Logan says sympathetically. I'm sure I look pathetic, hugging a tree and crying. I don't see why he bothers with this alliance.

"I guess I'll just have to eat this squirrel all by myself," Logan teases.

My head pops up.

"You got a squirrel?" I say, sniffling and wiping tears.

Logan nods and I hurriedly climb down. When I get to the bottom, Logan has retrieved his arrows and looted the bodies of the two men he killed. He has found two cans of sardines, a can of peaches, and a banana. He stores the food in his backpack. I guess he doesn't trust me to keep it.

That's probably a wise decision.

Logan leans against a nearby tree and takes out his list in preparation for the announcement. I lean beside him and wait. I watch the sun set and listen to my stomach growl. Eventually, Thaddeus announces four names and bids us good night. I look at Logan in confusion.

"Four people died?" I say. "When were the other two?"

Logan smiles. "When you were asleep," he says. "You must've been out cold if you didn't hear the gunshots."

I shrug. Logan sets out toward our campsite, and I follow. We walk for a long time before I see the familiar tangle of brush. I'm amazed that Logan found this place in the dark. We assemble the tent and sit down inside. Logan digs in his backpack and hands me some meat. It smell delicious.

"You already cooked it?" I say, shoving a piece into my mouth.

Logan nods. "That's why I didn't wake you in an hour," he says with a mouthful. "I wanted to surprise you with the food. I guess those two guys spotted the fire though." He focuses on his food and shrugs.

I eat in silence, not knowing how to reply. Logan has proved his loyalty many times over. He saved me from those guys today, and he easily could have let them kill me. He's sharing his food with me, and from what I can tell, he waited for me before he ate any of it. He seems...too good to be true.

I gobble down the rest of my meat, and take a few swigs out of my water jug. I notice Logan giving the jug a longing glance and I realize he doesn't have any way to transport water. He has to go to the stream every time he needs a drink. I offer him my jug.

"Thirsty?" I say.

Logan takes it quickly. "Thanks," he says.

We sit in silence while we finish our meager meal. I guess my stomach is shrinking because I feel very full from eating only half of the small squirrel. I pull my jacket sleeves back to look at my wrists. They are bonier than they used to be.

"How long have we been in here?" I ask Logan.

"This is the end of the fifth day," he replies.

I nod. I feel like this information should affect me in some way. I should be devastated by how much I have lost in such a short time. I should be amazed that I'm still alive after this long in the arena. Instead I begin to wonder how much longer these games can go on before Logan and I starve to death.

I look at Logan.

He is taking small sips of water and licking his fingers. It's obvious the squirrel was not enough to fill him up. I feel a twinge of guilt. I've had more to eat than him in the past few days and he's a much bigger person than me. I can see that his cheekbones are more prominent than they used to be. He still looks strong and healthy, but I can tell that stress and hunger are beginning to take their toll. Without thinking, I unzip my backpack and pull out the packet of beef jerky.

"Here," I say, and shove it into his hand. "You should eat more."

Logan stares at the package and then at me. He looks offended at first, and I bite my lip. He's realized that I've had the jerky this whole time without telling him. Then his expression changes to a smirk.

"So, you're finally starting to trust me a little bit," he teases.

I roll my eyes and look away. I certainly don't trust him enough to admit to it. I hear the crackling of the packaging as Logan shoves the jerky back in my backpack. I glance at him. He looks angry. I guess my reaction offended him. He unzips the front pocket of his pack and pulls out the food he looted today. He takes one can of sardines and the can of peaches and puts them in my backpack.

"If you don't want to be here," Logan says, "Then you can go whenever you want. I won't hold it against you, and I won't try to stop you."

I don't know what to say. Logan has given me no reason to leave. He's given me food, shelter, and protection. That's more than I ever dreamed of before I entered the arena. I don't have anywhere else to go. There's nothing outside of this tent for me but death.

All of these are legitimate reasons for staying, but they are emotionless. They are just evidence that the positives outweigh the negatives. My reasons aren't good enough.

If Miller Hughes had offered to be my ally, I would have killed him in his sleep. Most of the other representatives would have been liabilities to me. I would be the one protecting them and feeding them. Then, there are the ones like the guys Logan killed today. The ones who have let their humanity go. I would never ally with someone who took pleasure from killing.

I'm in this alliance because it's Logan. _He_ is why I stay. I may not trust him fully, but I can see things in him that I admire. He is generous and kind. He is strong and capable. He is the last friend I will ever have.

"I want to stay," I say.

Logan raises his eyebrows. He obviously doesn't believe me.

"Really," I say. "I don't want to leave."

Logan softens a little. "Alright then," he says.

He takes his half of the food and begins placing it in his backpack. I watch him in silence. I feel like I should say more. He obviously doesn't expect anything else from me, but I owe him my life. I could at least give him a few encouraging words.

"Thank you," I say.

Logan stops short. He looks at me questioningly. "For what?" he says.

"For taking me in," I say. "For feeding me. For saving my life."

Logan smiles. "I'm sorry I called you stubborn," he says.

I think back to our argument earlier. I was in a sleep deprived haze, but I remember being called stubborn. I shrug.

"I guess I am a little stubborn," I say.

Logan chuckles softly. "Maybe a little."

I put the mace in my lap and arrange myself in front of the tent flap. "Why don't you get some sleep?" I say. "I'll wake you up when I get tired."

Logan slowly lies down. "I don't think there's much need to keep watch, Corenn."

I knot my brows in confusion. Our tent is well hidden, but I still think we should be cautious. Someone could happen upon us, though it's very unlikely.

"Why shouldn't we keep watch?" I ask.

Logan smiles wistfully. "If someone comes to attack us, either we'll hear them or we won't," he says. "And if we don't hear them..." He looks at me sadly. "Wouldn't it be better to go in our sleep?"

I stare at him. He's right. I'd rather die sleeping than have to experience the fear that I've felt often in the past few days. I am resigned to the fact that I will die anyway. It would be much better to be killed when I'm unaware. I lay down beside Logan, keeping my mace close. It's hard to find a position where I'm not touching him in some way. I tuck my knees close to my chest and press my back against the side of the tent.

We lay in silence for a long time. I can tell that Logan isn't asleep by the sound of his breathing.

"Logan?" I say.

"Hmmm?" He replies.

"You could win this," I tell him. "You can beat Miller and whoever else is left." I shift uncomfortably. "I just wanted to tell you...in case I don't get another chance."

Logan rolls over to face me. I can't make out his features in the darkness.

"You could win too, you know," he says.

"Me?" I ask incredulously. "There's no way I can w-"

"Shhhh," Logan says, cutting me off. "This is how an alliance works." His voice sounds sad. "We're supposed to want each other to win. We have to believe in each other. It gives us something to fight for."

I don't reply. I realize that I've already grown too committed. If Logan dies before me, I will be devastated. I don't think I can take another loss without being ripped apart. He's right though. After Charles's death, I was just walking around, waiting to die. Now I have a reason to keep going.

I have something to fight for.


	25. Chapter 25: Fighters

**Chapter 25: Fighters**

I wake up before the sun rises. I'm sweaty and burning up. Immediately, I sit up and remove my jacket. I unzip the tent flap to stick my head out. There is a good breeze blowing, but the air is warm. I leave the flap open and lay back down, letting the wind cool down the tent. It feels pleasant right now, but it will be sweltering by midday. I decide that today's a good day for a bath.

When the sun begins to rise, Logan stirs. When he opens his eyes, he sits up and takes off his jacket. He peers out ofwswq the tent into the dim morning.

"What's that?" he says.

I look around until I spot the source of Logan's question.

"It looks like...a box," I say.

The two of us grab our weapons and creep toward the mysterious box. When we reach it, Logan gives it a quick nudge with his foot. I punch him in the arm.

"What if it was a bomb?" I say. "You would've killed us!"

Logan snickers. "A bomb?"

I give him an angry look and kneel down to get a better look. The box is green on one side and gray on the other. I run my hand along the top, wondering if I should open it. Logan bends down beside me and stares at the box curiously.

"What do you think it is?" I ask.

"I think..." Logan begins, "Maybe it's a sponsor gift."

I consider his answer. It seems plausible. The box has our states' colors. I just can't imagine that I would be getting a gift. I can't believe I still have sponsors after my many near-death experiences.

I remove the lid of the box.

Inside are two thick blankets.

I wipe sweat from my brow. "Blankets? Really?"

Logan laughs. "We'll take what we can get."

We gather the blankets and try to stuff them in my backpack. They add a lot of weight and they barely fit, but it doesn't bother me. Logan and I take down the tent and place it in Logan's pack.

"Do you want to try hunting again today?" Logan asks.

"I was thinking that I'd like to go to the stream and wash off a little," I say. "You can hunt if you want. I think I can find my way to the stream and back."

"No," Logan says immediately. "I need a bath too."

I glance at his messy hair filled with leaves and twigs. His hands are bloody from skinning the squirrel yesterday. Dirt stains his face and he has a minor cut on his arm that has obviously never been cleaned. I wonder how much worse I must look. I put a hand up to feel my hair and cringe. There are tufts sticking out everywhere. I pull a few leaves out before I give up.

I really can't believe I still have sponsors.

We reach the stream in no time, and Logan looks happier than I've ever seen him. He smiles widely at the water, and holds his arms out to feel the breeze.

I find myself smiling at his happiness. The smile feels odd, as if I haven't used these muscles in a long time. I guess I haven't. This is the first time I've smiled since I entered the arena.

Logan looks up at the sky. "We better hurry," he says. "It looks like we're going to get some rain today."

I glance at the clouds above us. It does look like a storm is brewing. I wonder why this doesn't put a damper on Logan's mood. I turn back to him, preparing to ask if we should reschedule our bath, but he's already removed his shirt.

I gasp and look away.

I don't know why I'm embarrassed. It's not like I've never seen a man before. I've just never seen a man who is quite so...breathtaking. It's obvious that Logan spends considerable time working on his physique. I hear him splashing into the water, and I remember why he's so happy about this.

He's a swimmer. A darn good one if I recall correctly. I look at the stream, and I watch Logan move to the deepest area he can find. He moves like a fish, darting from side to side. He goes underwater for so long that I start to worry, but he pops up with a grin before I can remove my boots.

"Come on, Corenn!" He calls.

I look awkwardly at my feet. I can see Logan's clothes sitting beside me. It appears that he is swimming in only his underwear. I'm not comfortable looking at _him_ half naked, much less stripping down myself.

"I'll just keep watch till you're done," I say.

Logan doesn't acknowledge me. He's too busy enjoying himself. I sit down and pull off my backpack. I put it beside Logan's, and I fold his clothes up so we can easily gather them if we're attacked. When I fold his jacket, a puff of dusty air rises out of it. I wonder if my clothes are as filthy as his. I look up at the sky, hoping that we have plenty of time before the rain begins.

I take Logan's clothes to the water and wash them the best I can. I dip and scrub his shirt, pants, and socks until the water I squeeze out of them is clean. I decide not to wash the jacket. It would probably take days to dry. I wring out the clothes and hang them over a tree branch. I take off my socks, rinse them, and place them to dry beside Logan's, then I retrieve my water jug and fill it up.

I take it back to my backpack, watching the breeze blow Logan's clothes. Soon, I notice that Logan is making his way to the edge of the water. When he steps out, he looks clean and gorgeous again. I can tell that he has lost a bit of weight, but his muscles are still toned and defined. I stare at him until he plops down beside me, refreshed and dripping.

"Your turn," he says. He picks up his bow and lays it across his lap while he lounges against a tree.

Obviously I didn't think this through. If I would've just gotten in the water while Logan was swimming, I wouldn't be subject to the humiliation of stripping in front of him. I hesitate, looking between Logan and the water.

"Oh, come on," Logan says. "Surely you aren't that modest."

I frown at him. "Shut up."

Logan tries not to smile. He purposefully looks down, pretending to adjust his bow. I still catch him glancing up every few seconds, though.

"How about this?" Logan says. "You wade into the water with your clothes on, and when you get in far enough, take them off and throw them to me. I'll wash them and hang them up for you."

I sigh gratefully. "Thank you."

Logan grins.

I make my way into the water. It's still extremely cold, but the warmth of the day makes it bearable. I wade until the water is above my waist, then I remove my pants. I throw them to Logan, who begins rinsing them. Once the water is above my chest, I am shivering. I peel off my shirt and toss it to Logan. I try to flutter around in the water like Logan did, but the current is strong enough that I can barely keep my footing. I bend my head back, wetting my hair and running my fingers through it. I scrub my scalp and tug at my hair until I declare it as clean as it can get. I run my hands over the rest of my body, wishing for some soap.

When I'm ready to head out of the water, I see that Logan is still undressed and sitting on the ground. I'm not sure what to do now. I obviously can't get dressed until I'm dry, so I'll have to step out of the water in just my bra and underwear. I want to tell Logan not to look, but I know he would just make fun of me. Everyone in America can see me anyway. I'm sure Alanton will force the cameras to focus on me just so I will be extra humiliated. I take a deep breath. _Just get it over with, _I tell myself.

I stride purposefully out of the water and walk quickly to Logan. He looks up when I get close. I am pleased to see that he keeps his eyes on my face like a gentleman. I sit down beside him, teeth chattering wildly. Logan reaches into my back pack and pulls out one of the blankets. He drapes it over me and tucks the edges around my legs and shoulders.

"Thanks," I say.

I lean against a tree and let the breeze blow my hair. The blanket warms me quickly, and I start to relax. Logan pulls out a can of sardines and shares it with me. I don't normally like sardines, but starvation makes everything taste heavenly. When I'm reaching for my last bite, the blanket slips down to my waist. Logan's eyes widen and he quickly looks away. I hastily jerk the blanket back up, blushing furiously.

"Sorry," Logan says. He doesn't seem embarrassed at all. "You've still got those bruises, huh?"

I am confused for a moment, but then I remember the injuries on my sides. I've gotten so used to the soreness that I mostly ignore it. I didn't even check the bruises while I was bathing. I look under the blanket to see that my sides are now an ugly shade of yellow and brown. They look much better though. I bet my face is completely healed.

"They aren't so bad," I tell Logan. "They're much better than they were."

Logan makes a face. "I should have pulled him off you sooner. I wasn't close enough."

"You did more than anyone else," I say.

I give him a small smile, and he smiles back. I hear a roll of thunder. It sounds close.

"Uh oh," Logan says, glancing at our clothes.

We both jump up, my blanket forgotten. I grab a shirt, but it's still very wet. Logan seems to be thinking the same thing about the pants he's holding. The thunder booms again.

"Bundle the clothes in my blanket!" I yell.

Logan spreads the blanket out and we toss our clothes into the center. Logan makes a quick bundle while I pull my boots on. A few sprinkles of rain start to fall. Logan pulls on his boots and jacket, slinging his backpack on. He picks up his bow and his quiver of arrows. I can't help but laugh.

He looks ridiculous.

"Shut up," he says and tosses my jacket to me.

I put the jacket on and pull up the hood. I grab my backpack, my mace, and the bundle of clothes. Then we run.

The rain gets a little harder when we reach the campsite. Logan tosses all of his things aside and gets to work on the tent. Together, we set it up in record time. We throw everything through the flap and nearly take down the tent in our hurry to escape the rain. By the time I plop down inside, I'm soaked again. But I can't stop giggling. It's been quite a while since I did anything fun. Running in the rain makes me feel like a kid again.

Logan grins at me. His soaking hair sticks up everywhere, and he has dripping water running down his face. "I've never seen you laugh before," he says.

I calm my giggles.

"I used to laugh all the time," I say.

Logan's smile falters a little. "Yeah, me too," he says.

We unwrap our clothes from the bundle and use the blanket to dry ourselves. We spread out the clothes the best we can, which isn't very well. Luckily, our jackets and backpacks repel water so they aren't soaked through.

We aren't crammed into the small space for long before I start to feel awkward. I'm a married woman, and I'm in awfully close quarters with a very handsome almost naked man. Logan seems to ignore the whole situation. He keeps up a constant conversation. He tells me that he used to love to swim in the rain. He tells me that he learned to hunt because he got lost one time on a long distance swim and ended up in the wilderness. He almost starved then. He tells me that he misses his favorite restaurant, and he misses his dog, and he misses his mom.

I listen and take it all in. I used to love talking about my family and friends, but right now it hurts too much. I like listening to Logan's voice. It's deep and soothing. Soon, I forget that we aren't wearing clothes. For a few seconds I even forget where we are, and how dire our situation is.

"What do you miss?" Logan asks. "Besides your family of course."

I pause. I can't think of anything I miss more than my son. I miss the rest of my family too, and Charles. And Elias, Marda, and James. They feel like family too, though.

"I miss pizza," I say finally.

Logan laughs and laughs. I smile at him and chuckle a little myself.

"I miss my toothbrush," he says.

This brings on another giggle fit for both of us. I think we're starting to go a little crazy.

"I miss toilet paper," I say.

We laugh and play our new game for a long time. We discover that there is an endless list of things we miss. As I watch Logan's laughing face, I realize that this can't last. One or both of us will die, and then we'll have something else to miss. As I'm thinking this, a gun fires, making both of us jump. We don't laugh anymore.

I feel a gust of wind entering the tent. It's much cooler than the breeze earlier.

"Wow, it's really cooling off," Logan says.

I stick my arm outside. The temperature is dropping fast. Now I know why Elias and Logan's coach sent us blankets. And we were dumb enough to soak one of them _and_ our clothes. I zip the tent flap and we have a meager dinner of beef jerky and a banana. Soon it is cool enough inside the tent that I curl my knees up and zip them into my jacket. Logan doesn't seem bothered by the cold, but he often looks concerned when the thunder rolls.

At nightfall, Thaddeus announces the deaths for the day. Today he only has to say one name. It is Albert from Alabama. I let out a heavy sigh and Logan runs his hands through his hair.

After a few minutes of silence, Logan looks up at me.

"Did you know him?" He asks. "Albert, I mean."

My eyebrows knot in confusion. "No, not at all. I know he was in our training class."

Logan nods. "Yeah. I watched him sometimes. He was a big guy, so I tried to see what he could do. He could've been a threat, but his heart wasn't in it."

"No one's heart is in this," I scoff. "Except maybe Miller's."

Logan gives me a serious look. "There's a difference between Albert and people like us," he says. "Albert had accepted his fate even back in training. I could see it in his eyes. He gave up before he ever got to the arena."

I consider Logan's words. I feel like I've given up too. I never thought I could win these Games, and I still don't. I'm no different than Albert.

"What's the difference between us and him?" I ask.

"We're fighters, Corenn," Logan tells me. "We won't win, and we won't enjoy killing, but when this is over, no one will ever say we gave up."

I give Logan a small smile. I hope he's right. I hope that's what they say about us when we're gone.

We are fighters.


	26. Chapter 26: Cold

**Chapter 26: Cold**

That night Logan insists that I take the blanket. I concede, but I can't sleep while he shivers beside me. After much arguing, we end up together under the blanket. I can feel his breath on my shoulders, but he does his very best not to touch me. The temperature doesn't stop dropping. When I wake up in the morning, I know before I open my eyes that the rain is still pouring down. I am shocked by how warm the blanket is. Then I feel my legs entwined with Logan's.

My eyes pop open. I am curled against Logan's chest, and his right arm drapes over my shoulders. My jacket is securely zipped, but Logan's is open, and my hands are pressed against his chiseled stomach. I try to wriggle away from him without waking him, but Logan shifts every time I move. Eventually I resort to an attempt to push him away. When I finally pry my legs free, Logan's eyes flutter open.

"What? What is it?" He says groggily, waving his arm around in search of his knife.

I swat his arm away. "It's nothing! Calm down!" I say.

Logan does as I tell him. He turns to me, and I watch his face while our closeness dawns on him. He doesn't tease me, and he doesn't look disgusted. He looks...comforted. I smile in spite of the awkward situation. I spent a lot of time playing out different scenarios in my head when I was preparing for the arena. I never thought I would end up cuddling with a gorgeous man. It's almost laughable.

Almost.

I quickly scoot away from Logan and out from under the blanket. My immediate reaction is shock. It is _freezing._ I quickly grab my clothes which, mercifully, are dry. I turn my back to Logan and strip off my jacket. Before I can dress, I'm shivering so much that I can hardly control my movements. I pull on my socks, and I dive back under the blanket. I don't care how bad it looks, and I don't care what Logan thinks. I just want to be _warm._

Logan seems to understand. He puts his arms around me. This time it's a friendly hug, nothing like the way we touched while sleeping. He scrubs his hands against my shoulder, trying to generate some warmth. In a few minutes, I'm warm enough to relax. Logan moves his arm away.

"I wonder what the temperature is," he says.

I shiver involuntarily. "It's got to be below zero," I say.

Logan chuckles. "I doubt that. It's still raining, not snowing. You're just so cold because you're skinny."

I roll my eyes. "Speaking of being skinny, do we have any food?"

We both check our backpacks. We have a few pieces of beef jerky, a can of sardines, and a can of peaches. We eat the jerky and the peaches, saving the sardines for supper.

When we've finished eating, I rub my flat stomach.

"How much longer can we do this before we starve?" I ask.

Logan sighs. "I don't know," he says. "We can probably last a while as long as we've got water, but we won't have the strength to fight or hunt."

"It's only a matter of time before someone finds us," I say.

"We'll make it, Corenn," Logan says. "We're not weak yet. It'll stop raining and we'll find more food. It's going to be fine."

I look down at my hands. They look small and fragile. I don't feel strong anymore. I feel hungry and tired. I'm warm now, bundled in my clothes underneath the blanket, but somehow I'm still cold. There's a hollowness inside me that I just can't shake. I don't know if it's from the hunger, the guilt, or the emotional turmoil of my present situation. I just know that it's not going away. I look at Logan. Since his bath, he looks like a skinnier version of his old self. He still has a twinkle in his eyes. His movements are strong and confident. He is fighting the effects of the arena. He's not going to let Alanton's Games bring him down. I admire that.

Logan catches me looking at him and gives me a puzzled smile.

"What are you staring at?" He asks.

"You," I blurt stupidly.

Logan laughs softly. I don't bother to explain further. I don't care what he thinks. His laughter fades to a concerned look.

"I'm so sorry you got stuck in this stupid Game," He says.

My eyes fall to my lap. Logan puts a finger under my chin and lifts it until our eyes meet again. He looks at me for a long time. I wonder if he sees how weak I've become. I wonder if our alliance will falter once he realizes I'm useless. I wonder if it will be Logan who kills me in the end.

He removes his hand from my chin. "I'll protect you," he says, "No matter what happens." He takes my hand. "I promise I will."

I hope Logan doesn't notice the shock on my face. I look into his blue eyes, expecting to find a hint of dishonesty. All I see is genuine concern. I don't know what to say to him. I can't understand why he's making me this promise, and I can't make the same one back to him. As much as I'd like to protect him, I know I don't have the strength or ability to help him much. I consider what would happen if Logan could protect me and we ended up being the last two representatives left. Could I kill him then? Would he let me?

I can't even think about it.

I don't think I could do it. Though I've spent the last few days in close quarters with him, and though he's saved my life quite a few times, I always thought I would do what I had to do when the time came. I'm not sure I could live with that now. I'm forming a bond with Logan, no matter how much I try to keep my distance. He's tearing down my defenses, just like Charles did. The thought of Charles makes my heart ache and my head spin. I can't let myself get so attached to Logan.

His hand is still holding mine. My hand looks pale and small in his. But it looks safe. I glance back at Logan's face. He's looking at me. He seems concerned and even a little...hurt. I immediately open my mouth to say something comforting, but nothing comes out. Logan lets go of my hand and turns away.

Suddenly I feel cold and vulnerable. I want him to turn back to me. I want to say something wise. I want to eat a hot meal.

I want to go home.

My thoughts are swirling and jumping from place to place. I hate this stupid arena. I put my hands over my face to try and stop my tears from coming, but I'm unsuccessful. As soon as I start to cry, Logan turns to me in shock.

"Oh no no no!" He says, and puts his arms around me. "I didn't mean it! I'm sorry! Whatever I did, I'm sorry!"

"Don't be stupid," I say with a sniffle. "You didn't do anything." I pull away from his arms. "I'm just...still hungry, I guess. It's making me crazy."

Logan digs through the backpacks, looking for the sardines. He offers me the can.

"No," I say, forcing myself to wipe my tears and sit up straight. "Just talk to me. I'll feel better if I'm distracted."

For the rest of the day, it rains constantly. We bundle up in our clothes and blankets, trying to keep warm. Logan talks about swimming and about books he's read. I discover that we like a lot of the same things. By mid afternoon, I am participating just as much in the conversation as Logan is. I tell him about my childhood, and about my favorite movies. He seems truly interested, which encourages me to talk more. By evening, we're running out of things to say. At least, things that don't bring up bad memories. Logan tells me about Anya, his fellow representative. He knew a side of her that I never saw. I guess she only opened up when she was with him. He tells me about Patrick, his coach for the Games. I don't care for Patrick very much. He seems mean and harsh. He made Logan run laps at dawn every morning, and he wasn't allowed to eat supper if he missed even one shot with his bow. I try to hold back my negative comments because I know Patrick's probably watching. It's likely that he's working with Elias now, since Logan and I received a combined sponsor gift. I don't want to make Elias's life any harder.

I decide to tell Logan about Elias. I tell him that I couldn't have asked for a better coach. I tell him how Elias took care of me after the fight with Miller. I talk about how Elias always took up for me if he didn't think I was being treated fairly. Logan listens intently and responds at all the right intervals. Eventually, I even tell him about Charles. I barely make it through the conversation without choking up. Logan seems to understand, and he quickly changes the subject when I'm done.

Thaddeus announces that there were no deaths today, which makes me smile. Soon after nightfall, it stops raining. After our meager dinner of sardines, Logan says we will go hunting first thing in the morning. The temperature drops even further after the sun sets, so Logan and I layer the blankets on top of each other. When we lie down, I once again feel awkward at Logan's closeness. We aren't touching, but if I so much as twitch a finger, we will be. I hope I don't end up curled against him while I sleep again. I wonder what Thomas thought of that. I feel a twinge of guilt. I imagine Thomas doesn't like this alliance one bit. I can't beat myself up over that. Logan is keeping me alive. Thomas should be thankful for that... If he even cares about me at all. He has seen me murder four people. He's probably disgusted.

The thought brings tears to my eyes, but I hold them back. I don't want to talk about Thomas, and I know Logan would ask me why I'm crying again.

I can't fall asleep, and I guess Logan can't either. We toss and turn for a long while. Finally, Logan breaks the silence.

"I miss tv," he says.

I giggle. "I miss showers."

"I miss soap."

"I miss deodorant."

"I miss video games."

"I miss chocolate."

Our lists go on and on. Eventually, our voices become groggy and our responses are spaced farther and farther apart. When I hear Logan's heavy breathing, I know he's fallen asleep. I close my eyes and try not to think. I let Logan's rhythmic breaths lull me to sleep.

"Good morning, representatives!" squeaks Thaddeus Pumpernickel's voice. "May I have your attention please?"

Logan and I spring into action at the sudden noise. We've both grabbed our weapons and nearly destroyed the tent by the time we realize it's just an announcement. Apparently Thaddeus realizes that he scared the daylights out of everyone in the arena because he gives us a few moments to calm down.

Then he continues, "At dawn tomorrow morning, there will be an opportunity for all representatives to replenish their food and supplies. If you would like to participate in this event, please make your way to the one remaining cornucopia. There will not be enough food for everyone, so prepare yourself. Good luck to you all."

The speaker clicks off. Logan and I stare at each other. I can tell that he's worried about having to fight for an undetermined amount of food. My mouth is already watering. I don't care if there is only one piece of beef jerky, I'll fight for it.

"Where do we have to go?" I ask. "I know our cornucopia is gone."

Logan shrugs. "I guess we'll have to do some searching today." He grins. "Good thing you can climb a tree."

I look at my bony hands. I hope I have the strength to climb.

We fold up our blankets and stuff them in my backpack. Then we disassemble the tent. It's still very cold, but the rising sun is starting to warm things up. Logan suggests that we begin by checking the snares we set a few days ago. He doubts anything will be there, since the animals would've been hiding during the rain just like we were. I don't get my hopes up.

We check the first two snares with no luck, but at the third we find a small rabbit. I fling my arms around Logan's neck and he swings me around. I don't think there have ever been two people more delighted about a dead animal. I am satisfied to see that the snare is one that I set without much help. Logan retrieves the rabbit and tells me it's still warm. It must have gotten caught sometime in the night.

We are nearly giddy with excitement. We quickly gather some leaves and sticks, trying to find some dry ones. We use almost all of my matches, but finally we get a fire started. Logan skins the rabbit and sticks it over the fire to roast. I search the area for a tall tree, and start to climb. I have a hard time at first, but once my muscles get warmed up it's not so bad. I realize with relief that my sides don't hurt a bit. I remember thinking that I wouldn't live long enough for my injuries to heal. I smile slightly. I guess I've already exceeded my expectations in these Games.

I reach a decent height, though it takes me quite a while. I glance down to Logan every few minutes. He looks like he wants to yell something to me, but he knows that would bring representatives straight to us. Our fire might do the same thing. I can't make myself care, though. Starvation has made me much more daring than I would normally be.

I try to climb faster so maybe Logan will quit looking so impatient. I speed up a little but quickly grow tired. When I finally reach a decent height, I stop to survey the arena. I can see a large clearing that isn't terribly far, but there is no cornucopia there. I see the twenty launchpads in a circle around the area, so I know it must have been a starting point.

It's just not the one we're looking for.

I continue looking, but the sun isn't high enough to shed a lot of light. I see some shadowy breaks in the trees far to my right, but I can't be sure it's another launch site. My disappointment makes me want to scream. We _have _to find the cornucopia. We can't miss out on this chance to replenish our food. If we don't get there in time, we'll probably die of starvation or be picked off by a better fed opponent. I look down, preparing to signal the bad news to Logan.

I see him pacing around the fire, checking the rabbit every five seconds to see if it's done. I navigate around the tree so I can start my descent. Just before I lower myself onto the closest branch, something on the ground catches my eye.

A girl is stumbling through the forest, tripping on roots and shrubs. Initially, I wonder how such a loud person could have possibly survived this long. Then I see that she has both hands pressed to her abdomen.

She's injured.

I don't know what to do. The path she is taking will lead her directly to Logan. She might be too injured to fight, but she isn't letting her wounds stop her from traipsing through the forest. There's no telling what she's capable of. I want to warn Logan, but I don't want to yell. The person who hurt the girl is probably nearby. I don't want to deal with them too. I frantically wave my arm around.

Logan doesn't look.

I climb down a few branches as quickly as I possibly can. I try hopping up and down to make the tree rustle, but that doesn't get his attention either. I climb down a bit more. I'm low enough now that the surrounding trees are blocking my view of the girl. If she hasn't changed her course, she will stumble upon Logan in moments. I do what any sane person would do.

I throw sticks at his head.

It turns out I am quite a good shot. I guess all of my practice with maces and tomahawks translates well to wooden projectiles. I snap five twigs off the nearest branch, and I hit Logan with every one. The last four are just for frustration's sake because he is alert and nocking his bow when I hit him the first time. He looks up at me and I point in the direction where I last saw the girl. He shifts his aim and stands perfectly still. Waiting.

I have little hope to make it to the bottom of the tree before the girl reaches Logan, but I have to try. I descend the tree in record time, scraping my legs and arms on the tree bark. When I reach a safe height, I jump and sprint to my backpack. I wrench my mace free and place myself beside Logan.

"Impressive," he mutters, giving me a smile.

Before I can think of a snarky reply, the girl wanders into view. She doesn't see us yet. Logan turns to me. He looks as unsure as I feel. I can see the unspoken question in his eyes.

_Should we kill her?_

I bite my lip. The girl is obviously hurt bad. I can see her bloody hands as they apply pressure to her wound. She may die without our interference.

Then again, she may not. She could be just one more representative that we have to get past in order to survive. Before I can make a decision, the girl looks up. She takes us in. We both have our weapons at the ready. I am giving her the most dangerous look I can muster. I want her to turn around and run away. I will let her go. If she survives her injuries then she deserves to win.

But she doesn't run.

She locks her eyes on me and stumbles forward.

"Help," she whispers, and falls to her knees.


	27. Chapter 27: Desperate

**Chapter 27: Desperate**

My initial reaction is suspicion. I wonder if the girl is pretending to be weak and vulnerable so Logan and I will let our guards down. I wonder if she is concealing a weapon somewhere that we can't see. I wonder if someone is following her.

Logan's initial reaction is compassion. He lowers his bow and hurries forward, bending to catch the girl before she crumples completely. I continue to stare with my mace raised, and Logan lowers the girl into a sitting position. He shifts her gently so she can lie back against a tree. She watches him quietly. Her lip trembles and she clutches her stomach.

I lower my mace a little. The girl's hands are covered in blood. It trickles down her wrists and arms, and her shirt is soaked.

She isn't pretending.

I hurry to her side. Logan murmurs soothing words while I attempt to pry her hands from her stomach. She is bony and seriously hurt, but she is still strong. I wrestle and plead with her for a moment, and she soon gives up, allowing me to pull her hands away.

I gasp. Logan takes one look and turns white. The girl has clearly been stabbed, but the wound isn't clean. Her stomach is mangled, as if her attacker wrenched the knife from side to side while it was in her body. I can't believe she's still alive. I quickly put her hands back over the wound.

One of our stations during training was about handling injuries. I don't remember much about it. There were times when we were supposed to apply pressure, and times when we were supposed to elevate things. I also vaguely remember how to make a tourniquet.

I don't think any of that will help us now.

I look desperately at Logan. It's clear that he doesn't know what to do for her either. He alternates between staring at me and staring at the girl.

"It's bad, right?" The girl whispers hoarsely.

I look at her face. She seems familiar somehow, but I can't place her. Her eyes lock with mine, and I can't lie to her.

"Yes," I say. "It's bad."

She nods. I watch as her tears spill over, and my eyes well up too. I have killed people, and I have lost people since entering the arena. But this is my first experience of prolonged suffering, and it hurts me more than I can say. I think of this girl's family, who is watching her bleed to death on national television. More than ever before, I feel the wrongness of the whole situation. How can people stand by and let this happen? How can people watch this for entertainment?

The girl pulls one bloody hand away from her stomach. She grabs my arm tightly. I put my hand over hers, squeezing it. My tears start to fall.

"I remember you," the girl says quietly. "Both of you." She glances between Logan and I.

Logan rests his hand on her shoulder. "I remember you, too," he says, his voice breaking slightly.

I say nothing. I still can't place the girl. She must have been in our training class. Logan is much better with names and faces than I am. That's probably because he pays more attention.

The girl's breathing is ragged now. I can see a glassy look in her eyes. She doesn't have much time left. Her searching eyes look above my head at something.

"I love you," she says to the blank sky.

I look at Logan in confusion.

"She means her family," he whispers. "She's talking to a camera."

I look where the girl is directing her speech. A very small hole is carved halfway up on a nearby tree. I never would have noticed it. It's clearly not a natural formation of the tree. It has to house either a camera or a speaker. Maybe both.

"I'll see you again," The girl continues.

She clutches my arm with such ferocity that I'm afraid I'll have a new bruise. I don't try to break free. She deserves whatever comfort I can offer. She meets my eyes again. I sniffle and try to compose myself. She gives me a tiny smile.

"I remember you," she repeats. She sighs and closes her eyes.

Logan and I stay at her side and count her breaths.

One...

Two...

...

...

And she's gone.

The gun fires, and I gently remove her hand from my arm, placing it in her lap. Logan and I stand. We say nothing, but there is an urgency about our movements. We both want nothing more than to get away from here. I use my spare pair of socks to wipe the blood from my arm and hand. Logan takes the rabbit from it's roasting spit without even checking if it's cooked through. I strap on my backpack and he does the same. We keep our weapons at the ready as we walk away.

We don't look back.

I wolf down a piece of rabbit meat as we walk into the clearing. Neither Logan nor I has mentioned the tragic incident that just took place. I pointed Logan in the direction of the launch site I saw from the tree, and we walked in silence the whole way. That's fine with me. I definitely don't want to talk about it.

Logan crosses his arms and bites his lip.

"What is it?" I ask.

"From what I can tell, the launch sites were arranged in a big circle," he says. "We can't walk the whole circle in a day. It'll just be luck if we manage to get to the one where the food will be."

Logan steps back into the cover of the forest and leans against a tree.

"We have to choose a direction," he says. "Left or right."

I chew on a bone while I contemplate the consequences of a bad decision. If we choose wrong, we'll miss the food delivery. We could die if we miss it.

We'll probably die either way.

"Let's go left," I say. "I know our launch site was to the right, and I know that cornucopia is gone. It would be a waste of time to check it."

Logan nods. "Okay, let's go."

Logan sets a grueling pace. We run for ages without resting. I'm glad we had the rabbit this morning. Otherwise we would be too weak to continue. As we travel through the forest, I spot a few blueberry bushes. They are shriveled and brown, with a few rotten berries littering the ground. _Stupid Gamemakers,_ I think. _They can come in here and rearrange the whole arena, but they can't plant a new bush?_

I notice a break in the trees up ahead, and Logan slows down. I guess we've reached the next launch site. Logan kneels down, panting. I want to do the same thing, but I'm too curious. I want to know if we've found what we're looking for. I creep forward, silently approaching the clearing ahead. I peek my head around a tree to survey the launch site.

It is bare.

There are twenty launchpads in a circle, just as I knew there'd be. There is nothing else. I turn back to Logan. He sees my face and drops his head into his hands. I feel like crying. I don't know how much more I can run. I lean against a tree and slump to the ground. Logan rubs his eyes and walks to me. He looks completely composed. I bet I look like a frazzled mess.

He bends beside me and takes both of my hands in his. On other occasions, I've been shocked by my thin fingers and fragile hands compared to Logan's. This time, I notice that his hands look bony too. His grip is still warm and firm, but I know it won't be long before his strength will falter. Even the strongest person can't go on like this forever. We _have _to find that cornucopia.

"It'll be the next one, Corenn," Logan says reassuringly.

I nod and allow him to help me to my feet.

We run.

By mid-afternoon, we can't run anymore. We can't even walk fast. A few gun shots have startled us into a quicker pace, but we don't maintain it for long. I guess the representatives are starting to gather wherever the cornucopia is, resulting in more deaths than usual. We try to be stealthy, but our tiredness makes us stumble and trip more often than we'd like. When we can't take anymore, we stop for a rest.

I lean against a nearby tree. Logan lies down, using his backpack as a pillow. I am afraid that if we rest too long we won't be able to get back up. The thought scares me, and I inch closer to Logan.

"We have to keep going," I say.

Logan tries to sit up, but fails. "I know," he says.

Then we hear it.

A shuffling sound comes from the direction we were heading. It sounds almost like...

"Footsteps," Logan whispers.

He pushes himself up and nocks an arrow. I raise my mace. We can't hope to avoid anyone if they happen upon us. We can't move fast enough to get away. We'll have to fight. My left hand shakes uncontrollably, but my right hand keeps the mace steady. Logan and I may be weak, but we still have the advantage here. The shuffling gets louder as the person approaches. Logan grits his teeth. I chew on my lip.

A small woman walks into view. She carries a combat knife that looks too large for her, but her stance and expression show that she knows how to use it. When she sees us, she raises her eyebrows.

It's Eleanor Hoffberg.

"Eleanor?" Logan says. He lowers his bow slightly.

"Logan Reinhart," Eleanor says. Her voice is deeper than one would expect from a woman so small. She turns her head to survey me. She smiles. "And Corenn Alexander."

I give her a tiny smile. Eleanor does not seem at all concerned that we have weapons aimed at her head. She also doesn't seem inclined to use her knife on us. Logan completely lowers his bow. I don't know if he's decided that Eleanor is no threat, or if he just doesn't have the strength to hold his stance anymore. I keep my mace at the ready.

"I suppose you're here for the food?" Eleanor asks.

"The...what?" I say. Just hearing the word "food" makes my mouth water.

"The food drop in the morning," Eleanor says, putting her knife away and coming closer. "It's pretty obvious you're starving."

She looks completely relaxed as she walks to us. She puts her hand on Logan's forehead. He doesn't flinch away. She puts a hand on his wrist for a few seconds.

"So, the cornucopia is around here?" I ask.

Eleanor continues her medical exam of Logan, and then moves to me. She gently pulls my raised arm down to my side. I don't resist. She touches my face, and then my wrist. She even raises my shirt to check my ribs.

"You guys are pretty healthy for malnourished pawns in a death game," She comments as she prods my sides. "The cornucopia isn't far. You're already headed in the right direction."

I glance at Logan and he smiles. Eleanor pulls off her small backpack. She rummages around for a few seconds, then pulls out a small package of crackers. I nearly tackle her over them, but I manage to hold myself back. Eleanor presses the package into Logan's hand.

"It's not much," she says apologetically, "But it's all I have to give. I have a lot of mouths to feed."

Logan takes the crackers without argument. He quickly opens the package and offers it to me. I take a stack of crackers and start nibbling. Logan shoves a cracker in his mouth.

"A lot of mouths?" he asks. "So you have an alliance too?"

Eleanor shrugs. "Sort of. I've found a few injured people and I'm taking care of them."

Of course she is.

Sweet little Eleanor. I wonder what Alanton thinks of her. I bet he's not happy. That makes me love her even more.

"So you're here for the food drop too?" Logan asks.

"Yeah," Eleanor says. "I'm hoping there will be some medicine."

I munch on my crackers while I ponder the situation. I know there isn't much chance that Eleanor will win the Games. She obviously knows it, too. She's not going to much trouble to protect herself or preserve her resources. Even with that knowledge, I feel an urge to help her. I feel like she's doing a good thing. She isn't playing by the rules. I want to offer something to her, but I don't have anything to give.

"Let us help you," Logan says to Eleanor.

My eyes dart to Logan's face. I have never admired him more than at this moment. He is a good competitor and a good ally. But most of all, he's a good man. He knows the risk it will pose to us if we add Eleanor to our alliance. She can hold her own, but her injured friends probably can't. Logan also knows it's the right thing to do, and that is what matters most to him. I give him the biggest smile I can muster.

"Yes," I say, "We want to help."

Eleanor looks a bit annoyed. "No way. Not a chance," she says.

Logan and I glance at each other.

"We could be an asset to you," Logan says.

"We know how to fight," I say.

Eleanor grins. "Yeah, I know," she says. "That's why I'm refusing your offer."

I shrug. This girl makes no sense.

"Don't you get it?" Eleanor continues. "There's no way I'm going along with this. You guys are the only ones left who are strong enough to take on Miller and his buddies."

"Miller has...buddies?" I ask. I'm flabbergasted that anyone would be stupid enough to form an alliance with Miller Hughes. I must admit I'm also a bit surprised that Miller has met someone in the arena that he hasn't killed yet.

"He's with the guy from Colorado and the guy from Wyoming," Eleanor says. "They're tough, but the two of you have a shot."

Logan hangs his head. "I don't think so Eleanor," he says. "If Miller has an alliance, we might as well give up now."

"Okay," Eleanor says, throwing up her hands, "Sounds great. I'll ally with you if you swear to me that you give up. Right this second, swear to me that you won't try to win."

Logan and I exchange worried glances. Neither of us know what Eleanor's getting at.

"We're not going to quit trying, Eleanor," I say. "We're just saying we don't have a very good chance of winning."

"There!" Eleanor says in an excited whisper. "That's just what I mean! You guys aren't going to quit trying. No offense, but I'm not going to guide you straight to a group of injured people. They'll be easy for you to pick off."

"We would never do that!" Logan says a bit too loudly. "If we say we're allied with you, that covers the injured people too! We wouldn't hurt them!"

"Shush," Eleanor says. "I can see it in your eyes. Both of you. If it came down to the end, and Miller and his cronies were dead, would you wait until we all died of natural causes? Would you kill yourself? No. I like you guys, but I know where the real alliance is. I know you would protect each other above all else. You'd kill off the rest of us."

My mouth hangs open. I don't know what to say. One horrifying thought rings in my head.

She's right.

I don't know if Logan feels the same, but...I would do what Eleanor said. I want to go home, and I want to live. I want that for Logan too. If Miller and his alliance were gone, I would go to any length to insure that Logan or I made it out of here. I grab a tree branch while the weight of this epiphany falls on me. I would do _anything._ All of those morals and values that I used to have are nonexistent here. I want to see my son again. My loyalties are to my family and Logan. No one else. I would kill those injured people if I had to.

Logan appears to be having the same crushing realization as I am. He nods to Eleanor.

"Fine," he says in a choked voice. "We'll try to protect you during the food drop."

Eleanor starts to protest, but Logan holds up his hands to stop her.

"We won't go to any trouble," he says.

Eleanor nods. She settles her backpack on her shoulders and prepares to leave. She gives both of us a tight hug. It's clear that she doesn't feel differently about us even though we admitted we would kill her if we had to. She's a strange little woman.

"We really aren't bad people," I say in a choked whisper.

Eleanor laughs. "I never thought so," she says, "And I never will, no matter what happens."

She turns away and disappears into the forest.


	28. Chapter 28: Adrenaline

**Chapter 28: Adrenaline**

Logan and I don't have much to say after Eleanor leaves. We silently finish the crackers and gather our things. The forest seems too quiet today. The animals have escaped to their dens to avoid the arrival of the representatives. I don't hear any birds or the rustle of a squirrel. It's rather depressing. The lively forest noises help me to remember that life is continuing on despite these Games.

I move slowly beside Logan. We continue in the same direction, but the urgency has passed. We know we're close enough that we won't miss the food drop. All we have to do is find the exact location of the Cornucopia and make a plan. I don't want to discuss anything that might happen tomorrow. After the encounter with Eleanor, it's apparent that any moment might be our last. We aren't likely to find a safe place in the area since most of the representatives are here. I try not to think about losing Logan, but I walk closer to him than usual. He doesn't seem to notice. I can tell by the knot in his eyebrows that he's pondering something important.

We walk for only a half hour before I spot the cornucopia through the trees. As soon as I point it out, we turn and head away. The closer we are, the more danger there will be. The sun is getting low in the sky, and we need to find a place to rest. Logan suggests that I sleep in a tree while he hides in the undergrowth. It's clear that we can't risk the tent tonight. I insist that I will sleep on the ground, too. It'll be easier for us to protect each other. Surprisingly, Logan doesn't argue. Before the sun goes down, the gun has fired six times. It's a depressingly large number of dead people, but I know tomorrow there will be more.

Logan finds a good place for us to rest, and we prepare ourselves for the long night. Thaddeus announces the names for the day, one of them being the girl from North Carolina. I gasp when I hear her name. Immediately I recall the pretty girl's features in the blood covered woman that died beside us today. I didn't recognize her without all the makeup and carefully placed hair. She remembered me, though. Maybe I haven't changed as much on the outside as I have on the inside. I hope that's true.

Logan puts careful marks beside the dead representatives on his list. He hands me the marker and I silently mark the names. Once we're done, I know there's nothing left but to discuss what tomorrow might bring.

"Listen, Corenn," Logan begins. "I know you don't want to hear this, but we might not make it out of this thing tomorrow."

I sigh, but I don't argue. He's right. This will be the most dangerous encounter since the bloodbath on the first day. It's a miracle that we both made it out of that. Tomorrow, we will face Miller. The thought alone terrifies me. I don't know how we can possibly get out of this unscathed. It's only a matter of time anyway. We can't survive forever.

"I think we should hide our supplies in the morning," Logan says. "We should take one empty backpack with us and our weapons. If we die, then no one will get much from us. I'm not going to help Miller win if there's anything I can do about it."

I nod. That's a good plan. I'll do anything I can to keep Miller from winning. Logan relaxes beside me. I guess he's done planning. I'm certainly not. There's plenty more to think about than what will happen to our tent when we're dead.

"What are we going to do when the food drops?" I ask.

Logan looks at me with raised eyebrows. "We're going to run out there and get it," he says simply.

"That's it?" I say. "That's the plan?"

Logan shrugs. "What do you suggest, then?"

I take a long breath. "I think we should try to eliminate as many other people as we can," I say.

Logan's eyes lock with mine. He knows I'm serious. I watch as his expression changes from shock to nervousness.

"I don't think I can do that," he says.

I rest my head in my hands. "I don't think we have a choice."

Logan looks away. I wonder if he sees me in a different light now. It doesn't really matter. I won't take it back.

I pick dirt out from under my fingernails, trying to keep my mind from reeling while Logan thinks on what I've said. I open my mouth a few times, trying to form the words that will prove killing people is the right thing to do...except there aren't any words. Everyone we've killed so far has been trying to kill us. What I've proposed is premeditated murder. There will be kind, defenseless, starving people at the cornucopia. There may be people like Eleanor, who are trying to help others. I hate myself, but I know what I will do if one of them crosses my path.

I grip the mace, and I can feel its weight even while it rests on the ground. I feel like a monster, but I know that any deaths I cause will be sparing the victim a few more days of torment. Most of them will die anyway.

I will die anyway.

But maybe Logan won't.

I look at him. His chin rests on his knees, and he has one hand pressed firmly to each ear. His eyes are tightly closed. It's clear that he's experiencing a deep internal conflict. I wish I could say the same. I can bear this guilt, and I will.

I put a cautious hand on Logan's elbow, and he slowly softens his expression. He opens his eyes and looks at me for a long moment.

"You're right," he says.

"I'm sorry," I reply.

I'm not sorry for being right, but I am sorry for the pain it caused him. I think he knows that.

I pull out my blanket and nestle against a tree trunk. I close my eyes, though I don't know why I bother. I won't sleep a wink tonight.

The gun fires and my eyes open wide. Apparently I was wrong. I must have fallen asleep as soon as I closed my eyes. Logan appears to have slept too. His eyes are squinting, looking around for danger.

When we are certain there's no immediate threat, we relax again. This time, before my eyes close, Logan takes my hand. He says nothing, and neither do I.

Logan wakes me with a slight squeeze of my shoulder. I pull my blanket back and stretch, noticing some soreness in my limbs. I have slept for a long time.

We fold our blankets and stuff them in my backpack. I remove the empty pack I folded up on the first day. I will use it to carry any food we collect. Logan hides our backpacks in a clump of bushes beside a tree. It's not the greatest hiding spot, but if we do manage to live through this, we'll need to find our supplies again. We make our way silently to the cornucopia. I hear nothing moving in the forest. When we reach the edge of the clearing, Logan motions for me to climb a tree. I firmly shake my head. There's no way I'm leaving him down here alone. He rolls his eyes and motions to himself and the tree, showing me that he plans to climb as well.

I force my sore muscles to ascend quickly and soundlessly. Logan rustles the tree too often for my liking, but he successfully positions himself on a branch below me without any significant catastrophes. We hold a silent vigil for what seems like hours. Eventually, the forest comes to life. I hear representatives approaching, but no one comes close enough for me to see. There are no screams or gun shots, so I assume Miller hasn't arrived yet. The sky begins to lighten, and Logan looks up at me. He gives me what I'm sure he intends to be a comforting smile, but his face is so thin and haggard that I want to cry. I manage to return a shaky smile, and we start our descent.

Thaddeus's voice squawks from the intercom.

"Good morning again, representatives! It's nearly time for your supply drop. I'll begin a countdown that will last for sixty seconds. I do ask that everyone refrain from violence until the countdown is complete. Good luck."

He proceeds to count backwards from sixty while Logan and I hustle down the tree. Other representatives appear in the clearing. They look nervous and scared, as if someone at any moment will break the "no violence during the countdown" rule. I'm pretty unsure myself. I don't see Miller anywhere, but I doubt a few words from Thaddeus are going to keep him from trying to kill us all. I notice many of the representatives have come alone. Their state partners are probably dead, and they weren't lucky enough to be rescued by a handsome stranger like I was. I refuse to look at them too much. I don't want to recognize anyone. I don't want to feel pity.

I know what's about to happen.

Logan and I stand side-by-side at the bottom of the tree, both reluctant to walk into the clearing. Logan shifts his weight from foot to foot. His adrenaline is already pumping. All I feel is a strong sense of calm and clarity. I stand perfectly still, my breath making puffs of steam in the cold air. The mace is warm in my hand. Logan takes the other and grips it tightly. The countdown nears its close.

We step into the clearing together.

There are at least 20 representatives here to fight for supplies. A few of them widen their eyes when they see Logan and I presenting a united front. Some of them look at us with fear, and some with aggression. I look back at them, expressionless. Everyone is armed, of course, or they wouldn't have lived this long. I spot a few swords and a few large axes. I even see one girl holding a mace. We all keep our weapons at the ready, as if they are the only thing left for us to rely on in this God forsaken place. The situation is so different from that first day of weapons training, where we all hesitantly held the weapons with fear. Now everyone looks comfortable with their chosen equipment.

I know it isn't the weapons that changed.

It's us.

As Thaddeus nears the end of the countdown, Logan releases my hand. He pulls an arrow from his quiver and readies himself. I ball my empty hand into a fist and spread my feet apart. I wear the empty backpack on my shoulders, so I know there is an unspoken agreement that I will be the one collecting food.

As soon as Thaddeus says "one" I hear the mechanical grating of the launchpads. Slowly, the transparent walls of the launch capsules appear. As they rise further, I can see supplies loaded into each of the twenty capsules around the cornucopia. The clear plastic walls start to lower, and my mouth waters. I see bread. Bread! And quite a few cans of tuna, sardines, and fruit. I take an involuntary step forward. The other representatives look about as composed as I feel. The capsules disappear into the ground and the food spills out onto the dirt. I don't look back at Logan.

I run.

The other representatives snap into action as well. Everyone parades toward the food, disregarding everything else. I notice that some of the launchpads contain weapons. One pad is filled with camping supplies. No one cares about those things. It's clear Thaddeus was telling the truth. There's not enough food for everyone.

I reach the launchpad with the bread and start loading the backpack. I shove things in carelessly, pausing only long enough to make sure the item is edible. All I hear is the shuffling of others doing the same thing. When my pack is nearly full, I hear the first clanging of swords. The fighting has begun. I hastily grab more food. For the moment I seem to be largely ignored, and that suits me fine. I feel Logan's eyes on my back, guarding me while I cram every morsel of food around me in the backpack.

Then the screaming begins.

A girl is stabbed, but not killed. She writhes on the ground in pain. Two guys disarm each other, and they wrestle amidst a pile of supplies. A man about my age is trying to pull a plastic bottle from the hands of a tiny woman.

"Eleanor!" I shout, hoping Logan will intervene on her behalf.

I sling the backpack onto my shoulders. I run toward Eleanor, but my shout has brought some unwanted attention. A large man with an axe steps into my path. He abruptly starts swinging and I start dodging. The axe is so heavy and slow that I have plenty of time to steady myself between attacks. I duck under a swing intended for my head and plant my mace in the man's kneecap. He howls while I wrench it free. He falls to one knee and I swing as hard as I can, crushing the mace into his head. I refuse to think or feel as he crumples onto the dirt. I pull the mace from his body and continue toward Eleanor. But she's gone.

I look around wildly but can't spot her. I see the man who was trying to take her supplies. He lies on the ground, motionless, with an arrow through his head. I turn to find Logan, and see him engaged in close combat. He has been forced to pull his knife, but is holding his ground against a woman with a small sword. I run to him. I take the woman down with one heavy blow, then glance in every direction, ready for the next opponent. Logan and I stand back to back, prepared for whatever comes.

Or so we think.

Miller and his two burly alliance members barrel into the clearing. One of the men pulls off a large backpack and heads for the food. The other two head for the nearest representatives. I watch Miller make short work of a woman despite her competence with a spear. He keeps moving, easily taking down a man who is busy stuffing his backpack. I feel Logan behind me, readying his bow. Before he manages it, Miller's eyes land on us. He changes course, heading purposefully in our direction. I consider throwing my mace at him, but I know I won't be able to retrieve it with all the commotion going on. I can't give up my mace.

"We should run," I tell Logan. I'm surprised that my voice carries no hint of panic.

"I can take him down," Logan says, nocking another arrow.

I turn to Logan, prepared to carry him away if I have to, and I see one of Miller's teammates running straight for us. There's no time to react. I brace myself for the blow. The man plows into us, pushing himself, Logan, and me to the ground. I take the brunt of the impact. My shoulder throbs, my arm is scraped, and I feel a return of the familiar pain in my sides. Logan pushes the man aside. Miller is almost upon us. Logan wrestles with the man while I try to get back on my feet. As soon as I manage to stand up, I kick Logan's opponent in the ribs as hard as I can. To my surprise, the man yelps in pain and Logan is able to pull away. I grab Logan's arm, but he doesn't need me to urge him on.

We run, and we don't look back.


	29. Chapter 29: Reprieve

**A/N: Thank you guys ****_so much_**** for the great support and feedback I've received about this story! Thanks to you, Remember Me Like I Was has been nominated for an Energize W.I.P. Award! I'm so honored!**

**Chapter 29: Reprieve **

We run as long as we can, not bothering to be stealthy. We trample so many trees and bushes that Miller could track us even if he was blind. Logan runs steadily beside me, and I know he's thinking the same thing I am.

_Faster._

_We have to run faster._

I don't intend to slow down until my legs are too weak to continue. Logan guides me as we run and pauses for only seconds to grab our hidden backpacks. Even the added weight of the tent and blankets doesn't slow him down.

We've run for a long time when my mind starts to work more rationally. I realize that Miller won't run very far from his teammates. Especially the one gathering food. I also realize that Logan and I could climb a tree to escape Miller's notice if he _did_ follow us this far. Logan could easily take him out from above.

I pull Logan's arm and urge him to stop. He cruises to a halt and gasps with his hands on his knees. I lean against a tree, trying to gather enough air to tell Logan what I'm thinking. I can't do it, so I point at the nearest tree and start climbing. Logan follows without question, and we climb as fast as our fatigued muscles will let us.

I choose a sturdy branch and settle on it, checking to see that Logan has found a suitable one as well. For a while we just sit. My breathing slowly evens out, and I notice the sounds of a living forest again. Birds are singing, insects are buzzing, and a cautious squirrel leaps from a nearby oak.

"I think we're safe," I whisper, not confident enough to speak normally.

Logan looks up cautiously.

"We should wait a little while longer," He says.

So we do.

The food in my backpack is calling to me, but I refuse to entertain the thought of eating without Logan. I lean back and close my eyes, pretending I'm somewhere else. I picture myself in a lush green meadow, just as I did the night before I entered the arena. Kade is there, and Thomas. Thomas holds a picnic basket overflowing with delicious goodies, and Kade holds my hand. That must be what perfect happiness feels like.

A nagging thought enters my mind.

There's something missing from my little fantasy. It isn't perfect. It doesn't bring me as much comfort as it used to.

"Corenn?" Logan says quietly. "Are you asleep?"

I open my eyes. "No," I say, looking at Logan's face. He gives me one of those dashing smiles, and I can't help but smile back.

"Ready to eat?" He asks.

I don't bother with a reply.

I scramble down the tree.

We sit on the ground, looking through my backpack as if we've found a priceless treasure. I gathered five large dinner rolls, a jar of peanut butter, a wedge of cheese, three apples, a packet of trail mix, and a few cans of nonperishable meat and fruit. I find myself wiping tears as I use a filthy finger to spread peanut butter on a roll. After one bite, I declare it the best meal I've ever had. Logan makes his own peanut buttered roll and takes a huge bite. We bask in the deliciousness of the meal, and the comfort of knowing there'll be another one later. We ration the water as much as possible. We're running low after our excursion away from the stream. I haven't seen a water source since the rain stopped, but I can't bring myself to worry about it now.

Logan finishes his roll and dips his fingers in the peanut butter. He looks at me apologetically. I shrug and dip my fingers in too.

When we've finished half the jar, we relax against a tree. I sigh. This is the most content I've felt since I entered the arena.

Then the gun starts firing.

Nine shots.

Nine people died this morning. I killed two of them myself. I wonder if one of the others was Eleanor.

"She got away," Logan says. "Eleanor, I mean."

I look at him suspiciously. He seems to know what I'm thinking far too often for my liking. My expression softens. At least Eleanor is safe. And so are we.

For now.

"Thanks for rescuing me today," Logan says, "You could've just left me."

I think back to this morning's events. I guess Logan's right, I did rescue him. I killed one woman he was fighting, and kicked Miller's buddy so Logan could get away. I feel a slight confidence boost. Maybe I'm not useless in this alliance.

"I'm not the abandoning type," I say, though that's not really true. It's been less than a week since I considered leaving Logan's tent while he slept. That seems like a lifetime ago. I wouldn't abandon Logan now if my life depended on it.

Which it probably does.

Logan smiles and nudges my shoulder with his. We're both in a state of giddy relief, but I know it will be short lived. Eventually the guilt and the fear will come back. I pack the food in my backpack and prepare to start walking again.

"Where are we going?" Logan asks.

"To find water," I say.

We spend the day searching for signs of water, though I spend most of the time snacking too. I find chocolate chips mixed in the trail mix and squeal with excitement. Logan insists on picking out every chip and giving them to me, which I wholeheartedly appreciate. For lunch we have a can of sardines each, and I pronounce mine to be the best can of sardines that has ever existed. By mid afternoon, the water is running dangerously low. My mood has dwindled along with the water. We walk in silence most of the time, hoping to hear the sound of a stream. It is at nightfall, right before Thaddeus announces the names for the day, that we happen upon a secluded pond. Logan marks the names on his sheet while I fill my water jug and clean my newest scrapes.

When the sun has fully set, Logan decides to set up our tent near the water. He finds the most practical spot he can, which is only partially hidden from view. I don't worry too much. There are only eighteen people left in the arena now. As the numbers dwindle, so does the chance of someone happening upon us in the night.

We lounge in the tent, splitting another roll and finishing off the jar of peanut butter. Logan somehow thinks of stories that he hasn't told me before, and I listen with interest. He tells me about one time when he broke his arm. He says it was the most terrible pain he'd ever been in. He insists that it had to be worse than childbirth, which I find incredibly funny. He tells me about his father, who died when he was young. I can see that these stories are hard for him to talk about, but he says he wants to tell me.

Afterwards, I tell him about Kade. I don't know why I do it. It hurts to even say Kade's name, and the memories rip me to pieces inside. But I do it.

I tell Logan about the day I found out I was pregnant, and the day I first felt the little butterflies in my belly that were Kade's movements. I tell him about the terror and pain of labor, and how I felt when I first saw Kade's face. I tell him about long nights and colic and diaper rash. I talk about birthday parties and first steps. Logan listens intently through it all, laughing when I laugh and hugging me when I cry. When I have no more to tell, Logan pats my arm and finds one last chocolate chip in the trail mix.

Once we've laid down to go to sleep, I feel completely spent. I can't say it has been a good day, but I lived through it, and so did Logan.

And right now, that's all that matters.

When morning comes, I'm so sore that sitting up takes my breath away. Absorbing the impact of two large men was a serious setback for my healing ribs. I sit in the tent, once again doing the stretches Elias taught me. _At least I remember one useful thing from training,_ I think. Logan heads outside without me, promising not to go far. He comes back carrying a box.

The box is similar to the one that held our blankets, but it's smaller. I notice the green and gray colors are swirled together, rather than separated on each side. I wonder if it's a coincidence, or if our coaches are acknowledging the growing friendship between Logan and I.

Logan sets the box down at my feet.

"Open it, open it, open it," he says with a grin. His face looks like a kid's on Christmas morning. I can't help but smile back.

"Alright sponsors," I say, "What've you got for us this time?" I pull the lid from the box.

Immediately my eyes fill with tears. I don't know why. The items are entirely useless as far as survival is concerned. Logan pulls out a roll of toilet paper. I can see that he's a little choked up as well. Our coaches have sent us some of the items from our little game - some of the things we miss. I find two rolls of toilet paper, two toothbrushes, a tube of toothpaste, and two bars of soap.

It's the best gift I've ever gotten.

I tear the package from one of the toothbrushes and grab the toothpaste. I want to brush my teeth _right now._ I grin at Logan and crawl out the tent flap.

"Wait, there's something else," Logan says.

I turn around to see Logan pulling a folded sheet of paper from the box. He opens it, and I watch his expression change. His lip trembles and he looks away.

"It's yours," he says.

I take the paper and turn it around. It's a picture. The most beautiful picture I've ever seen. Not because of the artwork's intricacy, but because of the hand that drew it.

Kade.

The bottom of the paper is scribbled full of light green. Grass, I suppose. Placed in the grass are two large circles, one dark green and the other gray. Above the circles, written in my mother's neat script are the words "Mommy and Logan".

The tears start flowing and I can't make them stop. I clutch the paper to my chest, and crawl to Logan's side.

"I think it's for both of us," I say through choked sobs.

Logan puts an arm around me and sniffles. We sit for a long time, our other gifts forgotten. I hold the picture close to me. I can't bear to release it. It is so much more than a drawing. It tells me that my family is watching. They still love me despite what I've done. They're rooting for me, and for Logan too.

There is no greater gift than that.


	30. Chapter 30: Challenge

**A/N: This story placed second in the Energize W.I.P Awards! Here's a big THANK YOU to everyone who voted!**

**Chapter 30: Challenge**

Logan and I sit silently in the tent, basking in our moment of peace. Soon, my stomach starts growling. I fold Kade's picture into a square and stick it inside my jacket.

Close to my heart.

Logan selects our breakfast. He pulls out the rest of the rolls and the cheese.

"Good choice," I say, and we dig in.

Once our bellies are full, we make good use of our sponsor gifts. I brush my teeth over and over again while Logan scrubs layers of dirt from his face. We strip down to our underwear and bathe with the soap, though the morning is really too cold to be soaking wet. We aren't dumb enough to wash our clothes again, so we spend a few hours drying ourselves under the blankets. The day turns out to be nice and sunny, almost warm enough to stop my chattering teeth.

For lunch we snack on apples, and Logan tells me some ridiculous jokes that he remembers from high school. Our day is as perfect as one could hope for in a situation like this. By mid afternoon, only one gun shot has fired, which is less than I expected. All the representatives who lived through yesterday are in the same area of the arena. Miller will be hunting, and I'm surprised he hasn't found more than one person.

_Maybe he's too busy hunting us_, I think. Fear wells up inside me, but I refuse to succumb to it. I won't ruin this day. Not yet.

When the sun sits low on the horizon, three shots fire in quick succession.

"Well, that makes fourteen of us," Logan says sadly.

I suppose we should be glad we've made it this far. We're still alive, when so many others are gone. Even so, it's troubling for me to know that I'm in this arena with only thirteen other people. Thirteen people who are strong, capable, and armed. I won't run into someone who doesn't know how to use their weapon, or one who can't keep up with me. Everyone left is deadly. I won't have another easy fight.

I try to calm myself with the thought that Logan will be with me. We will have the upper hand against most representatives because they're alone. I'm still not comforted. The farther Logan and I progress, the more likely it is that we'll face Miller again. I'm not ready for that.

I'll never be ready for that.

Thaddeus reads out the names for the day. Logan is finishing his supper of cheese and jerky, so I use his marker to check off the names. The man from Alaska has died, and the girl from New York. Thaddeus says the name of the man from Tennessee, and I breathe a sad sigh. He was never nice to me, but he certainly didn't deserve to die. Especially not like this. I mark a small "x" beside his name.

"From Texas, Eleanor Hoffberg," Thaddeus booms.

Logan stops eating. I stare blankly at the list. Thaddeus bids us goodnight and the speaker clicks off. I stay frozen until Logan pulls the paper from my hands.

"It never gets easier, does it?" Logan asks.

"What?"

Logan takes my hand and squeezes tightly. "Losing people," he says.

I think of Charles. I think of my family, and Elias, Marda, and James. I think of Eleanor.

I have lost more than one person should ever have to lose. At least I know my family is safe. But not Charles. Not Eleanor.

Not Logan.

I scoot closer to Logan. He smells of bread and soap. I can hear his breathing in the silence, and I treasure it. There aren't many days left for us to be together. I rest my head cautiously against Logan's shoulder. He doesn't resist. I listen intently for the soft sound of his heartbeat. When I finally hear it, I memorize it. I don't want to forget how _alive _he is.

Logan puts an arm around me and rubs my shoulder. I wonder if he's thinking the same thing I am. I remember his promise to protect me no matter what, and I know he won't break it. Until the end, until all is lost, I know he will fight for me.

And I can't stand it.

I can't stand the thought of losing him.

He's right. It never gets any easier.

I fall asleep with my head resting on Logan's shoulder, his arm still draped behind me. When the sun rises, I wake up sore and stiff. A speaker clicks on, so I know an announcement is coming. I try to wake Logan so he won't be alarmed. He twitches and mumbles, but doesn't wake. The announcement begins, and I let Logan jump up and scramble for a weapon without trying to stop him. I'm frozen. It's not Thaddeus this time.

It's President Alanton.

"Good morning, representatives," Booms Alanton's arrogant voice. "Congratulations to the fourteen remaining competitors. Your skills, bravery, and perseverance have gotten you this far. Now, you will face a new challenge."

Alanton pauses for dramatic effect. My hands shake with dread. Logan sits down heavily and takes my hands in his. I see fear in his eyes.

"All representatives must be present at the cornucopia when the sun rises tomorrow," Alanton continues. "I will not release any details surrounding this new challenge, but I must impress upon you that your participation is mandatory. Any representative who does not arrive on time to the designated area will be..._disqualified_." He lets his meaning sink in before continuing, "I expect your full cooperation. Good luck."

I can picture Alanton's arrogant smirk as the speaker clicks off. I close my eyes and think of nothing but the _whoosh_ of air in and out of my lungs. When I am calm enough to speak, I look at Logan.

"This is bad," I say.

He nods.

"What do you think we'll have to do?" I ask.

Logan shrugs. "I don't know." He lets go of my hands and they drop limply to my lap. "Maybe he's ready for it to be over. Maybe we'll all have to fight to the death."

"I don't think so," I say. "I bet he wants to prolong this as long as he can."

Logan shrugs. "Maybe you're right."

He doesn't sound very hopeful.

We nibble on beef jerky in silence. My mind plays out a hundred different scenarios that Alanton could have planned for us. None of them seem likely. Another biting concern is that Alanton made the announcement himself. Is it so bad that Thaddeus refused to take part? Or is Alanton just trying to scare us?

I try to stop my mind from wandering through the gruesome possibilities. I watch Logan. He looks to be experiencing the same emotions I am. He catches me looking at him and forces a smile.

"I could really use a hamburger right about now." He leans out of the tent and looks up, as if sponsor gifts could just fall from the sky.

"A hamburger?" I ask, curling my lip. My stomach swims with butterflies. I feel the beef jerky rumbling around, threatening a reappearance.

"Yeah," Logan says, putting his half eaten jerky back in the bag. "I used to eat a burger the night after a competition. I'd have months of dieting and training all the time, so I really looked forward to that burger. I guess it's like a comfort food."

I nod. I think of Logan's sponsors lining up to pay for a hamburger. I bet they'll try, but the price is surely astronomical by now.

I mutter to Logan that I need to clear my head, and I grab my toothbrush. Kneeling over the pond, I methodically brush my teeth, gums, and tongue. I spit and rinse more times than necessary, keeping my mind engaged in the mundane activity.

After the eighth rinse, I let out a heavy sigh. I rinse my toothbrush and grab my mace. I entertain the idea of another bath, just to keep me busy. When I turn to the tent, the hair on the back of my neck prickles.

I'm not alone.

I frantically look left and right, trying to spot the intruder. I see nothing. I hear nothing.

I convince myself that I'm hearing things. The stressful situation is making me see danger where there isn't any. It was probably just an animal.

I lower my mace.

And Miller Hughes strides out of the forest.


	31. Chapter 31: Close

**Chapter 31: Close**

"Oh look, it's the southern belle," Miller taunts. He stands a safe distance away, and I wonder if he could really be that stupid. I can throw my mace easily. And I won't miss.

"So where's Reinhart?" He asks conversationally. I refuse to let my expression give anything away. I won't look at the tent, and I won't call for help. Maybe Logan will be smart and hide.

I spread my feet apart and drop my toothbrush in the dirt. The mace is all that matters now. I swing my arm back, preparing to throw.

"I don't think so, honey," says a harsh voice.

I am grabbed from behind. A strong hand closes on my wrist. Too late, I remember that Miller has an alliance. A strong one.

The hand twists painfully until I'm forced to drop the mace. I refuse to cry out. Maybe Logan is still oblivious inside the tent. I struggle with my captor, but he pins both my arms and wrestles me to my knees.

Miller approaches slowly, with a disgusting grin on his face.

"You Mississippi folks have some fight in you," he says approvingly.

I pull against the man at my back with no success.

"That guy from your state...the one with the spear...he was pretty good," Miller says. He leans close to whisper in my ear. I feel his hot breath on my neck.

"He didn't even beg for mercy when I cut his throat."

I freeze. A sea of red clouds my vision. The man holding my arms is forgotten. Miller killed Charles. That insane, vicious _bastard_ killed Charles. I bite my tongue until it bleeds, forcing back every vile word that comes to mind. I won't let Logan hear this. I won't. But I have to do _something._

I swirl the blood around my mouth and spit in Miller's face. His furious expression does nothing to change my anger to fear. I will die now, but I won't be afraid. I'll go bravely, like Charles.

Miller wipes my blood and saliva from his cheek. He grips his sword and readies for the blow that will take my life.

I hold my head high and look into his eyes.

He raises the sword.

A confused expression flits across his face, and suddenly...

I'm free.

I hear a thud and look around. Logan has tackled the man who held me, and the two furiously wrestle on the ground. Logan carries a knife. His bow would've been useless from the tent. It's too large to aim and shoot properly in an enclosed space. I curse him to high heaven for coming out here without it.

I look at Miller. He is returning to his senses. I dart away, grabbing my mace. Quickly, I hop to my feet.

But not quick enough.

Miller punches me in the jaw. My vision swims and spins. I feel even more blood flowing in my mouth, but I ignore it. I swing the mace in Miller's direction, and he dodges easily.

"We already know how this ends," Miller says.

I swing the mace again, narrowly missing his midsection. "Maybe you're underestimating me," I say, blood trickling from my mouth. I don't really think so, I'm just trying to engage him in conversation while I think of some way out of this.

Miller laughs. "Really?" He swings his sword, and I jump away.

"Really," I say. "How many of your victims have taken a beating and gotten back up?"

I duck under a swing.

"If I'd been trying to kill you, you'd be dead," Miller spits.

I peek over Miller's shoulder at Logan. He's still grappling on the ground, but it's clear Logan's rage gives him the upper hand.

I smile at Miller. "You're trying to kill me now, and it's not going so well, is it?"

Miller's annoyance grows. He swings his sword with abandon, his emotions overriding his skills. I dodge his flurry of attacks but can't get close enough to hit him. Miller's eyes shine with rage while he stabs and slashes. I dodge. And dodge. And dodge

And the gun fires.

"LOGAN!" I scream.

My loss of composure surprises Miller, so I use the opportunity to dart around him. Miller's partner is laying on the dirt, bleeding in the pond. Logan regains his footing, lunging toward the tent. To get his bow.

I whirl to face Miller...but he's gone. Heavy footsteps recede into the forest. I don't bother to follow.

I fall to my knees.

Logan reaches the tent and jerks his bow out, ready to shoot. He sees me on the ground, alone. He lowers the bow and rushes to my side.

"Are you okay?" He puts his hands gently on each side of my face.

I can't speak. I think I'm okay, as far as injuries go. A very loose tooth wiggles with a prod of my tongue. My face hurts, but that's nothing new. I only just recovered from the last blow to my jaw.

But I can't say that I'm fine.

For a split second, I thought Logan was dead. In that second, I cared about nothing else, not even my own life. I look at Logan, kneeling in front of me, seemingly uninjured. His eyes are full of concern for me.

I throw my arms around his neck and sob.

He wraps me in his arms, and we don't move until my tears stop falling. When I finally pull away, Logan looks worried. I can't seem to stop shaking.

"How did we live through that?" I ask.

Logan closes his eyes and presses his forehead to mine. "I don't know."

"Where was the other guy from their alliance?" I ask.

"Maybe he's dead," Logan says, but we both know he isn't.

"We got lucky," I say.

Logan nods and examines my swelling jaw.

"I'm fine," I say, swatting his hand away.

We wash our various cuts and scratches, which, amazingly, are very minor. The biggest problem is the swelling around my loose tooth. I insist that it doesn't hurt much, but really it's terribly painful. Logan packs the tent, and we start the long trek back to the cornucopia. I try to walk quickly, but dread keeps slowing me down. My swollen gums throb with every step, and Logan asks me about a hundred times if I'm alright.

"I'll be fine!" I say, the one hundred and first time. "Stop worrying!"

Logan rolls his eyes. "It's my fault you got hurt. Forgive me for being concerned."

"Your fault!?" I throw up my hands. "How can you possibly blame yourself for Miller punching me in the face?"

Logan whirls around. "That wasn't the first time Miller almost killed you while I was around!" He grabs my arm. "Why didn't you call for me? I almost didn't get there in time." He looks at the ground, rubbing his eyebrows. "If he had killed you…"

I stare at Logan's downcast eyes, and my heart aches.

"I didn't call because I wanted Miller to think we weren't together," I say softly. "I wanted him to kill me and go without ever knowing you were there."

Logan grips my other arm and stares at me fiercely. "You were going to die...for me?"

My eyes dart from place to place, trying to avoid Logan's gaze. I hadn't really thought about what I was doing while Miller and his buddy had me pinned to the ground. I knew I could call for help. And I knew Logan would come, but I didn't risk it.

I wouldn't risk Logan's life, not even to save mine.

"Tell me you won't do that again, Corenn," He gives me a gentle shake. "Promise me."

I stand as straight as I can, a defiant frown on my face.

"No," I say.

Logan shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath.

"You're so stubborn," he whispers.

"It's because I'm always right," I say, trying to lighten the mood.

"Not this time," He replies.

He releases my arms and walks away.


	32. Chapter 32: Daylight

**A/N: Sometimes a scene creates itself in my mind through music. Sometimes I have the scene in my head, but I can't do it justice until I hear a song that moves me. This is one of those scenes. I have to give a big thank you to "Daylight" by Maroon 5 for showing me the way through this chapter.**

**Chapter 32: Daylight**

We walk for ages. I wonder if we'll ever reach the cornucopia. I climb a tree every hour or so, trying to make sure we're on the right track. Eventually, I see the familiar break in the trees and heave a sigh of relief.

"It's not far," I tell Logan after I've climbed down.

He nods absently.

He hasn't spoken to me since our argument earlier, even though I've tried to engage him numerous times. He wouldn't even talk to me while we stopped for lunch, so I babbled on about some stupid sitcom I used to watch.

We reach the cornucopia late in the evening. We back-track a bit and make our camp for the night, which consists of the two blankets and a tree to lean against. Right before Thaddeus's announcement, a gun fires, signaling the second death of the day. When we mark our lists, we discover that the man from Wyoming was the one who accompanied Miller this morning.

I huddle close to Logan as the night grows darker. Soon, it is dark enough that I can only see his silhouette beside me. It reminds me of my first conversation with him, out the window of our state's houses.

"Do you remember the night Miller beat me up?" I ask. "The first time, I mean." I gently prod my swollen jaw.

"Vividly," Logan says. It's the first word he's spoken in hours.

I smile. "You scared me half to death with that sign," I say. "I almost didn't reply."

Logan shifts against the tree. "Well, I tried to go over to your house, but Anya convinced me not to. She knew I'd get in trouble."

My eyes widen. I can only imagine what punishment Logan would've faced for visiting another representative's house. I'm glad Anya stopped him.

"The sign was more fun anyway," I say. "it was a nice distraction."

Logan turns to me. "Then why didn't you write me again?"

I replay the signs in my head. "I answered everything you asked," I say.

"I don't mean that night," Logan says. "I mean the nights after that."

"The nights after…?" I look at him in surprise. "You wrote me more messages?"

"Yeah," He replies. "Every night."

"Oh," I say lamely.

My stomach churns with guilt. I think of Logan, alone, waiting for a reply that would never come, and I try to push the feelings away. I know, no matter how many messages we wrote back and forth, I never would have trusted him then. I remember the day after our conversation, when I tried to avoid Logan during training. I didn't believe anything he'd said to me the night before. I thought it was all some sort of tactic. And he didn't try to get my attention either. He was too busy shooting dagger eyes at Miller to bother with—

Wait a second.

"You partnered with Miller in training after the fight," I say. "You were keeping him away from me."

Logan nods. I rest my forehead on my knees. How long has Logan been my ally? I never gave him any reason to care, but he did. He did it long before I returned the sentiment.

I turn to stare at his shadowy form by my side. I'm thankful for the darkness so he doesn't see me looking, but I wish I could see his features better. I know when daylight comes, there won't be any smiles or laughter between us. There will be good-byes and words we should have said. I don't want to think about it. I want to treasure this moment. I need something to hold onto when the end comes.

Logan takes my hand and I rest my head on his shoulder.

"What would've happened if you met me five years ago?" He says, startling me from my reverie. "Before Alanton and the Games?"

I try to remember my life five years ago.

I was 23, fresh out of college. I worked part-time at a Botany lab to pay for the apartment I shared with two other girls. I thought I was so grown-up. I was sure the future held only success and happiness.

"I don't think you would've liked me then," I say. "I was a bit naive."

"I would've liked you," He says. "I would've made you happy."

I don't reply.

But I know he's right. Five years ago I was single and searching for Mr. Right. Logan was a famous athlete. If he'd shown any interest in me I probably would've fainted.

If we'd gotten to know each other…

"Are you okay?" Logan asks.

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," I say.

But I'm not.

Waves of emotion course through me. I've thought of Logan as a partner, as a friend. I've often considered how lucky I am to be in this alliance. But what if we weren't in the Games? What if we'd met some other way? What if I wasn't married? I don't have to think about it. I already know.

I would fall for him.

Logan Reinhart isn't the kind of man you pass up.

But we _are_ in the Games. And I _am_ married.

And we're probably going to die tomorrow, so it doesn't matter.

I squeeze Logan's hand and he squeezes back. I'm sure he knows what I'm thinking. He always does.

That night I don't sleep at all. Logan doesn't either. We lean against the tree, hand in hand, with our blankets tucked around us. I listen to the sounds of the forest, and to the sound of Logan's breathing. There are so many things I want to tell him, but I never say a word.

Too soon, the sky lightens, and it's time to go. We hide our supplies again, taking only the weapons with us. I clench my teeth to keep them from chattering and I feel a sharp, painful jab. My jaw has only gotten worse through the night, but I try to push the pain aside.

The glint of the cornucopia sparkles through the trees when Logan stops. He turns to face me with an agonized expression. My eyes fill with tears.

"Please don't make me say good bye," I say, refusing to look at him.

He touches my face very gently and pulls me toward him. His face is inches from mine.

"I have to do this...just in case," He says softly.

He presses his lips to mine.

His mouth is soft and welcoming. His hands leave my face and wrap around my shoulders, pulling me closer. I am enveloped in his scent and his warmth, and I never want to move again. I fold my arms around his neck and stand on my toes. I want to be closer. I know everyone in America is watching. I know I should pull away.

But I don't.

Eventually, Logan does. He holds my gaze for a lingering second. The sky is brightening around us, and the birds are starting to sing. He plants one soft kiss on each of my cheeks, and then he lets me go. We rush into the clearing, daylight streaming through the trees.

"_When the daylight comes I'll have to go, _

_But tonight I'm gonna hold you so close._

_Cause in the daylight we'll be on our own, _

_But tonight I need to hold you so close."_

_—_Daylight_, _Maroon 5


	33. Chapter 33: Overload

**A/N: Thank you guys so much for the reviews, follows, favorites, messages, etc. Your encouragement is what keeps me going!**

**Chapter 32: Overload**

"Welcome, representatives," Booms Verilius Alanton's voice. "Congratulations to the twelve of you that remain. I ask that you all drop your weapons and proceed to the launchpad labelled with your state's name."

I look at Logan, horrified. Alanton's cutting right to the chase then. The other representatives stand around the outskirts of the clearing. None of them drop their weapons. I spot Miller standing beside his very battered teammate. The man looks like he has several knife wounds, and his breathing is labored.

My eyes settle on Logan again. He looks more sad than afraid.

He stares straight ahead and drops his bow.

I freeze, still gripping my mace. Logan removes his quiver of arrows and places it on the ground. He takes his knife from his belt, drops it, and walks to the circle of launchpads. I jerk my head around, ready to take out anyone who tries to harm him.

"Thank you, Mr. Reinhart," Alanton says. "I urge you all to follow suit. There will be no violence...for the moment. Must I remind you that there are consequences if you refuse to cooperate?"

I drop the mace.

I walk to Logan, who is examining each launchpad, trying to find the one meant for him. The other representatives jump into action as well. In no time, I find the launchpad labelled "Mississippi" in green lettering. Logan stands beside me on the gray Kentucky pad. The other representatives are arranged around the circle, every one of them looking starved and nervous. Even Miller looks a bit disheveled without his sword. I have nothing to hold on to now, so I place both my hands over my heart, pressing Kade's drawing as close as I can.

"Good," Alanton says. "I thought you might reconsider. Now that you're all in place, we'll continue."

Without warning, the plastic launch capsule shoots up from the ground, trapping me inside. I panic, pushing my hands against the clear walls. Vaguely I notice the other representatives stuck inside their capsules. Logan stands still beside me, looking surprisingly calm. He sees my fear and says something, but I can't hear him through the thick wall.

A metallic grind begins and the launchpad starts its descent.

"Logan!" I cry, beating my hands on the capsule.

I shove against the wall over and over, reopening some of the scrapes on my arms and hands. My blood streaks across the plastic, but I can't stop trying to escape. I have to save myself— and Logan. Alanton knows we can protect each other, he knows we're strong together. So he's breaking us apart. We're going to be sent into some new hell, something worse than the arena.

In my distress, I can't think clearly. I can't rationally process any thoughts or actions. I continue to fight the capsule as it lowers. I watch Logan, pressing a fist against his plastic barrier, with his eyes shut. He knows he can't get out. He's giving up.

I call to him again, though I know he can't hear me. As we descend into the earth, Logan opens his eyes one last time and I meet his gaze. I press my bloody hands against the plastic, absorbing all his features in my mind before we disappear into the dark.

All I see is blackness. I try to relax. There is no escaping the coming horrors. I crouch down, pressing my head to my knees and rocking.

_Calm._

_Try to be calm._

I stay in this position until the capsule grinds to a halt. I don't look up when the plastic barrier opens. Feet bustle around me. A pair of hands grab my shoulders, and I react. I grip one of the hands, pulling myself to a standing position, and I whirl around, throwing a punch in the direction of my attacker. He crumples to the floor and I step out of the capsule, seeking my next opponent. The light is much brighter than I expected. I blink wildly and spot two more shapes moving toward me.

I throw a punch, but I miss. Someone clamps down on my wrist and I twist away. Suddenly, I am being pulled and grabbed all over the place. I punch and kick, but my eyes adjust much too slowly. I can't see well enough to do any real damage.

"I told you this wouldn't work," a man says. His voice strikes a chord in my memory, but I can't place it.

"She'll be alright. Renn? Hon, ain't nobody tryin to hurt ya," says another man. This voice I recognize. I go limp.

_"_Elias?" I say.

"Go ahead, Doc, we ain't got much time" Elias says.

Something sharp jabs my neck, and I whirl around. There stands Dr. Dawson with an empty syringe in his hand. He looks at me apologetically.

"What's..." The room goes dim around me. "Why would you..." I say. "I don't..."

I can't form the right words. I can't even form the right thoughts. I can't fight the blackness.

I fall.

* * *

I stand in a lush meadow. It is warm and bright, with blooming flowers and chirping birds. Kade chases butterflies. He grins when he sees me.

"Mommy!" He shouts.

I envelop him in my arms. I don't know why, but it feels like I haven't seen him in ages.

I spot Thomas picking wildflowers. He holds a small bouquet out to me.

"For you," he says.

I take the flowers and press them to my nose. Thomas sits down beside a picnic basket. I feel a sharp pain in my mouth, but I push it aside. Thomas reaches in the basket and offers me a plate. My mouth waters. _Why am I so hungry?_ Thomas lays out a sandwich for Kade and pulls one out for himself. He reaches back in the basket and hands me a messy sandwich twice the size of his own.

I laugh. "You must've known I'd be starving."

Thomas smiles and takes a bite. I balance the lovely sandwich in both hands and open my mouth.

But a nagging thought stops me.

There's something I should be doing. Something I've forgotten.

I look at the sandwich. It doesn't seem as appetizing as before.

Thomas frowns. "Aren't you going to eat?"

"No," I say. "I think...I think I should go."

"Go?" Thomas says. "You just got here!"

I sigh. "Yeah, you're right."

I push the sandwich around on my plate while Kade and Thomas eat. My mind wanders and searches, trying to fill in the blanks. Thomas takes my hand. His touch feels foreign to me.

"What's wrong?" He asks.

"I don't...I can't remember," I say. "Something's missing."

Thomas laughs. "Everything you need is right here, Corenn."

He leans in for a kiss, and I oblige. His lips feel cold and uninviting.

"I really have to go Thomas," I say sadly.

Thomas sets his sandwich down and fixes his green eyes on my face.

"What did I do wrong?" he asks.

I can see the pain in his expression, and I look down at the grass. My jaw throbs and my mind is cloudy. I don't think Thomas did anything wrong.

I think it was me.

I feel...different. Thomas's touch gives me no comfort, as if something between us is lost. I look at my hands. They are bony and dirty. I don't see why Thomas even wants to touch them. I pull away, standing quickly.

"You didn't do anything," I say. "I've just lost something. Something important."

Thomas gives me a sad smile. "Well, I hope you find what you're looking for."

"I'm sure I'll be back soon," I say.

Thomas nods, but keeps his eyes on the ground. "Good-bye Corenn."

I grimace. His words sound very final, as if he knows something I don't.

"Good-bye Thomas," I say. I give the meadow a longing glance.

Then I turn and walk away.

* * *

My eyes flutter open, but the light around me is so bright I clench them shut again.

"She's waking up," Someone says.

"Give her some air," says a gruff voice. I hear shuffling feet and the sounds of multiple people breathing. A warm hand engulfs mine.

"Renn?" A man says. This voice is comforting, though I can't place who it belongs to.

I am laying on something hard and uncomfortable. Someone is above me, combing knots out of my hair. My mouth hurts and it's stuffed with cotton gauze. I try to open my eyes again.

I stare at a large lamp, like something I've seen in a dentist's office. Someone finally has the decency to turn it away from my face. I look at the anxious people around me. A handsome man brushes my hair while a thin woman holds a bag of ice on his jaw. An older man grips my hand with tears in his eyes. He looks thrilled to see me. A few other people bustle around the room, shooting worried glances in my direction.

I focus only on my breathing while I try to remember.

In.

_There was a ray of sunlight through the trees._

Out.

_There was fear._

In.

_There was a cage._

Out.

_And there was a blue-eyed man._

In.

"LOGAN!" I shout, and bolt upright. I try to jump off the medical table, but numerous hands reach out to restrain me.

"Whoa! Whoa!" The older man yells.

_Elias! How could I forget Elias?_

"That Reinhart boy is fine," he says. "You're worse off than he is. Now lay back down and get your bearins."

Apparently I don't have much choice in the matter. Several people push me gently down on the table.

"We need to change that gauze out," Elias says. A woman in scrubs pries my mouth open and pulls out the bloody cotton.

"Elias, I-" The woman stuffs new gauze in my mouth.

"Listen, hon, we don't have a lot of time down here," he says. "There's some things I need ya to do."

I nod. _What choice do I have?_

"She needs to get a shower," says the man with the ice pack on his jaw.

"James!" I say. My speech is muffled by the mass in my mouth. "What happened to your face?"

James smiles, then winces. "You did, silly."

_Oh God._

_I punched James_.

"Don't feel bad, sweetie!" James says. "It was my fault for sneaking up on you!"

I try to form a coherent apology, but my tongue keeps getting lost in the gauze. A woman I've never met ushers me into a tiny room. It's dim and smells of mold, with only a shower stall and tiny toilet to identify it as a bathroom. The woman turns the shower on for me and hangs a towel. When she leaves, I peel off my clothes and step in the warm water.

I've never felt anything so wonderful. I wash slowly, appreciating every second of peace and comfort. But in only a few minutes, curiosity gets the better of me. I need to know what's going on. I step out and towel off. No one has left me any clothes, so I come out wrapped in the towel. James grabs my hand and pulls me to a salon chair. I face a huge mirror surrounded by bright lights. When I see my reflection, I gasp.

I hardly recognize myself.

My face is swollen and bruised, though it is still noticeably thinner than before. My shoulders poke out of my towel, and my skin clings tightly to the bones. My eyes look haunted and sunken. Any beauty I once possessed is long gone.

James combs slowly through my hair. My gauze has filled with blood so I can maneuver my tongue again. I pry gently at the source of my torment— the tooth Miller nearly knocked out yesterday.

But it's not there. There's only a gaping hole in its place.

I look around the room, trying to stare at anything but my horrid reflection. I spot a woman standing in the corner, her stillness making her almost unnoticeable.

"Marda?" I say.

She walks to my side and smiles sadly. She looks awful. It's apparent that the Games have taken quite a toll on her too. I wasn't the only one who lost Charles.

"I didn't know if you'd want to see me," Marda says.

"I'm glad you're here," I reply. "Now… _what the heck is going on?"_

Elias pulls two chairs close to me. Marda takes one and Elias plops down in the other.

"I need ya to listen real careful, alright?" Elias says.

I nod, mentally preparing for terrible news.

"There's been a change in the rules," Marda says. "President Alanton has announced that two representatives can win the Games."

My brain can't compute this. "Two of us?"

"Yep," Elias says. "The last two survivors are the winners."

My face breaks into an excited grin. "So Logan and I-"

"Wait, Darlin, don't get your hopes up," Elias says.

"You and the others were allowed to come down here for medical attention and information," Marda says. "The gamemakers were afraid none of you could keep your strength up long enough to make these games as... memorable as Alanton wants them to be."

"When they send ya back up, you're gonna have a number on your shirt," Elias tells me. "You'll have to find the other representative with that number. That'll be your new partner."

My heart sinks. There's always a catch.

"Do you know who it is?" I ask.

Marda and Elias shake their heads.

"All we know is you're gonna be wearin a number 3," Elias says, holding up a shirt with a green three stitched on it.

I stare at my lap. Soon I will be stuck with some stranger, struggling to survive again. I won't be with Logan. He'll be trying to kill me with his new teammate. I feel certain that Alanton won't match Logan and I with the same number. Our alliance is over.

"Why?" I ask. "Why would Alanton want two winners?"

Elias and Marda exchange a glance.

"I'm not sure he does, hon," says Elias.

I wrinkle my nose in confusion.

"Your alliance with Logan has been popular with the viewers," Marda says. "Miller's too. And…Eleanor's."

"Yeah, people eat that stuff up," Elias says. "I think Alanton wants everybody to have a partner so people are more interested in what happens to them."

I roll my eyes. "So it'll hurt worse when they die."

Marda nods. "Exactly. Alanton wants the audience to be invested in every representative."

"So, why don't you think he wants two winners?" I ask.

Elias props his arms on the side of my chair, patting my shoulder.

"He wants to watch how you all act when your partners are gone," He says.

My blood runs cold. Of course he does.

"I think he's especially interested in how you and Logan will handle each other's deaths," Marda says.

Elias shoots her a look. "Hush that up. She don't need to hear none of that."

Marda ignores him and scoots her chair closer to me. "Listen to me, Corenn. If that boy dies, you keep going. You keep fighting, do you hear me?"

I look at my hands, nodding slowly. Marda knows I'm lying. She crosses her arms and takes a deep breath. I see a speech coming on.

"What if I'm matched with Miller?" I ask, quickly changing the subject.

Elias shrugs his shoulders.

"You'll just have to try and reason with him," Marda says.

I laugh incredulously. There's no need to tell her how ridiculous her suggestion is.

"He killed Charles," I say. "I'd rather die than team up with him."

James applies some goop to my face, and it makes me look slightly more human. He files my wretched looking nails until they look tidy. Then he starts on my hair.

"Can I braid it now?" He asks.

I look in the mirror.

"Just put it in a ponytail," I say. "I'm not making any fashion statements these days."

Elias chuckles.

"You've made quite a statement," Marda says, "Fashion and otherwise."

"Everybody and their brother wants to be like Renn Alexander," Elias says. "You're a bona-fide celebrity."

I cover my face with my hands. This is a lot to take in, and my brain can't deal with another startling revelation right now.

James slicks my hair into a ponytail while Elias takes the bloody gauze from my mouth.

"What happened to my tooth?" I ask.

"The swelling wasn't going to go down until the tooth came out," Marda tells me. "Dr. Dawson said you'd get an infection if he didn't act."

"Okay," I say, taking a deep breath. "So what happens now?"

Elias places a clean wad of cotton in my mouth. "Now," he says, "You're gonna have to be brave a little bit longer."

I close my eyes. I know what that means.

It's time to go back in the arena.

I dress slowly in the bathroom, trying not to panic. The pants I wear are much thinner than the previous ones. They are more like yoga pants than outdoor gear. Instead of boots I have a simple pair of running shoes. They are sturdy, but I doubt they'll last long in the arena. I put on the black t-shirt with a number three stitched in green. There is no jacket.

"We're all going to freeze to death," I mumble to Elias when I open the door.

He frowns. "Alanton is tryin to make ya desperate. He wants you all to hunt instead of runnin."

"He wants the end to be brutal," Marda says bluntly.

I cross my bony arms and nod. I expected no less.

James looks me up and down, seeing if he missed anything during his beauty ritual. He gives me a long hug and sniffles on my shoulder. As soon as he lets me go, he exits the room without a word.

I look at Elias and Marda.

"It's time," Marda says.

They escort me to the capsule. Before I step inside, Elias pulls me into a big bear hug.

"I ain't gonna tell ya good-bye," He says, his voice thick with emotion. "You come back to me, ya hear?"

I nod, knowing it's a lie.

Marda surprises me with a tight hug.

"I always knew you could win this," she whispers. "And I still believe it. Don't give up."

When she lets me go, I step into the capsule. I stare at the coaches for a few moments before the clear wall closes around me. Both of them are near tears, but I feel surprisingly composed. I have already sealed my heart away.

When the capsule begins its ascent, Marda blows me a kiss and Elias covers his mouth to mask his trembling chin.

And then they're gone.

I don't feel the despair that comes when there is no hope. I don't feel sad or afraid. I feel empty.

The capsule rises into the morning light, dazzling me after traveling through the dark. I survey my surroundings.

The cornucopia is gone. In its place is a giant mound of dirt. I can't see anything on the other side of it. Arranged beside the mound is a small pile of weapons and supplies. A _very_ small pile. I look to my left and right. There are five representatives with me on this side of the mound. I assume the other six are hidden from view on the other side. I don't see Logan, and I don't see anyone with a number three on their shirt.

There are only four weapons in the pile. There is a bow, sitting beside a quiver of arrows, and a sword. I spot a large axe that I doubt I could lift, and a knife. There is no mace. Two backpacks sit beside the weapons. I have to get one of those. Even if I can't grab a weapon, I need a backpack. There has to be some food in it, and maybe even some water.

"Hello, representatives!"

It's Thaddeus. I roll my eyes at his chipper voice.

"Here we are, once again, ready for a countdown," Thaddeus muses. "I must say, I have become rather attached to all of you, so I earnestly wish you very good luck." He clears his throat.

"Alright, down to business then. I will begin a sixty second countdown. When I reach zero, you will then be free to act as you wish. I recommend searching for your new partner while also retrieving supplies. As I'm sure you've been informed, there has been an interesting rule change. The last two representatives who remain will be declared the winners. Therefore, it would be beneficial for you to find your designated parter, rather than attempt to fight alone. I hope you all make the right choice."

Adrenaline shoots through my body. Thaddeus starts counting, and my capsule walls slowly lower. The representatives around me scramble to look at everyone's number. Our partners must be hidden on the other side of the mound. For now, we fight alone.

I focus on the weapons. I think of Logan, waiting on the other side. I wonder if there's a bow in his pile. I wonder what number is on his shirt. I wonder which of the people beside me will be his partner.

Thaddeus reaches five, and I spread my feet, ready to take off.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

And I run.


	34. Chapter 34: Partners

**A/N: Whoa, guys, the formatting on my last chapter got totally messed up...those pesky scene dividers really make a difference! Anyway, it's fixed now, and hopefully it'll be a bit easier to follow (though if you made it this far, you probably already waded through the last chapter :P). Thanks for sticking with me!**

**Chapter 34: Partners**

I push my feet as fast as they'll go. I'm quicker than the other five representatives, but not by much. I slide to a stop at the weapons pile, slinging a backpack over my shoulder and ducking a punch from a large man. I recognize him as Miller's wounded ally, the man from Colorado. He looks much healthier now. I close my hand on the first weapon within reach. It's the bow. I kick a skinny girl who approaches, sending her sprawling to the ground. Then I grab a knife.

A man shoves me out of the way. I fall against the dirt mound, clawing at it to regain my footing. Someone grabs me from behind and I twist around, shoving the knife into my attacker's body. It pierces his stomach and I wrench it free. Another man grabs the quiver of arrows. He looks at the bow hungrily and reaches for me. I duck and plow into his midsection, taking us both to the ground. I scramble to get up, but he pulls at my hand, trying to take the knife. I punch him as hard as I can. His grip loosens slightly, and I pry my hand free. I plunge the knife into his neck and look away. I feel him twitching and clawing beneath me, but I don't look at him again. I pull my knife out, grab the quiver, and run.

I take off toward the trees, forgetting about my new partner.

"Hey! Number three! Hey!"

I skid to a stop.

An unarmed man runs to my side. I can clearly see his number three stitched in light brown.

"Well, come on!" He says, taking off into the forest. I lift my foot to follow, then I freeze.

I see Logan.

He is alive, though I can see a bleeding cut on his forearm. He holds only a knife and runs beside the girl I kicked while fighting for weapons. I watch him disappear into the safety of the trees, and I turn, running after my new partner.

* * *

We run for a only few minutes before he stops me.

"I need a rest," he says, breathless.

I sit down beside a tree and try to scrub the blood from my knife. I spit out my soaked gauze. My mouth feels like my ribs did right after Miller pummeled me.

"What's your name," the guy asks.

"Corenn," I say.

He nods. "I'm Neil, from Vermont."

"Hmmm," I say, trying to appear interested.

"Where are you from?" Neil asks.

"Mississippi," I reply.

Neil raises his eyebrows. "Wow. I never thought a redneck would last this long."

I glare at him. He doesn't seem to realize he's said anything offensive.

"How about you give me that knife?" Neil says.

"How about I don't?" I reply.

Neil makes a face. "I should've known I'd get stuck with a woman. You can't even stop PMSing long enough to help a guy out."

I consider giving him the knife. Right in the eye.

Four shots ring out.

"Well, that makes eight of us," Neil says.

I ignore him. I just hope one of the shots wasn't for Logan. Maybe he's having better luck than me.

I look through the backpack, trying to keep Neil's prying eyes from seeing everything. I have an empty canteen, a pack of jerky, and a thin blanket.

"Have we got any food?" Neil asks.

"No," I say. I can tell by his ravenous look that he'd eat the whole pack of jerky in a heartbeat.

"What about water?"

I hold up the canteen. "It's empty,"

"Let's get a move on then," He says. "We'll have to find water before nightfall." He walks a few paces, then turns back, pushing his finger in my face. "Don't slow me down."

I swat his hand away and stomp into the trees.

* * *

We walk for the rest of the day, stopping several times for Neil to rest. He complains about being hungry, thirsty, and tired every time he opens his mouth. I wonder how he lived this long if he can't stand any physical strain. In the early evening, we hear the sounds of a bubbling stream. Once we've found it, I fill the canteen.

Neil jerks it from my hand and guzzles. When he's done, he hands it back to me. I roll my eyes and fill it again.

Thaddeus's announcement comes. I hold my breath, but Logan isn't among the dead.

When we settle down for the night, I offer to share the blanket with Neil. For once he doesn't reply with a demeaning comment. I huddle under the thin cover, facing my back to Neil and curling my knees to my chest.

When the sun rises, I wake. I turn to Neil, who lounges against the tree. He has my knife in his hand. I open my mouth to demand it back.

"Don't start," Neil says. "I checked the backpack. You're holding out on me." He holds up the open pack of jerky. "You can keep your stupid bow. I'll hold on to the knife and the food from now on."

I should have killed him yesterday when I had the chance.

"But don't ever say your buddy Neil isn't a giver," He adds. He throws me one piece of beef jerky. "Here's breakfast."

* * *

Neil insists that we hunt. I tell him how bad I am with the bow, but he thinks I'm lying. After a few hours of walking through the forest, we haven't even spotted a squirrel. If Neil would stop stepping on dried leaves and snapping twigs, we might have better luck. I wrack my brain, trying to remember how to make a simple snare, but I can't.

After Neil allows me another piece of jerky for lunch, we continue our futile attempts to find game. A few minutes into the hunt, I hear a crunching sound nearby. I grab Neil's arm.

"Be still," I whisper. "I think I heard something."

"Don't be such a wuss," Neil says, jerking his arm away.

I hear the sound again. It's coming closer.

"Footsteps," I say, but Neil isn't listening. I do my best to steady the bow and aim it in the direction of the noise.

Neil realizes I'm not following him.

"Really?" He says.

I hear another shuffle. Neil's eyes widen. He finally heard it too.

"It only sounds like one person," I whisper. "It must be somebody who lost their teammate already."

"Okay know-it-all," Neil whispers back.

My eyes are becoming accustomed to rolling after Neil speaks. I prepare an angry retort, but it freezes in my throat. Two representatives step into view.

"Well, I guess you're not as smart as you thought," Neil says.

It was an honest mistake. One representative, a girl, stumbles over a tree root and rustles some leaves, while her partner walks soundlessly behind her, holding a knife.

I should have known.

It's Logan.

He spots me before the girl does, and he doesn't alert her to my presence. I hold the bow, pointed directly at Logan's chest.

"Shoot him," Neil says.

The girl hears us finally, and turns in our direction.

I narrow my eyes.

She has a mace.

"Do it!" Neil urges.

The girl quickly comes to her senses. She readies the mace, but doesn't step toward us. I can tell she doesn't know how to throw it.

I slowly point the bow in her direction.

"No! Kill the guy! Don't you know who he is?" Neil says.

I ignore him. The bow trembles noticeably in my hands.

And Neil has had enough.

He charges at Logan, yelling a guttural cry.

Time slows for me. Neil bares his teeth in an arrogant sneer, and Logan's eyes meet mine. The girl screams a warning.

Then I notice Logan's stance. His knife lowers with Neil's every step. He's not even watching Neil.

He's not going to fight.

He's going to let Neil kill him so I have a better chance at winning.

_No._

_No, no, no, no NO!_

I jerk the bow away from Logan's partner and aim it directly at Neil. I loose the arrow and watch it fly, silently willing it to hit its intended target.

The arrow lodges in Neil's back, piercing through his body. I can't see his face as he falls to the ground, but I can see Logan's. He is shocked…and a bit relieved. Before the gun signals Neil's death, Logan's partner snaps into action.

She runs toward me, mace lifted high.

"Get her!" She screams.

Logan's eyes widen. In three strides he is upon her. He stabs her in the chest, burying the knife to its hilt. He pulls it free as she falls.

The gun fires again.

I stand still, my breath coming in ragged gasps. Logan stares at his dead partner. After several long moments, he turns to me.

I drop the bow and run to him, tears flowing as he wraps me in his arms. He lifts me off my feet and holds me close.

"Nice shot," he says.

* * *

It takes some time for me to regain my composure, but when I do, my first move is to hand Logan the quiver of arrows.

"I believe this is yours."

"I don't know, Corenn," Logan says, grinning. "You're getting pretty good."

I walk to the bow and pick it up. "You know that's the only shot I've ever made," I say.

Logan takes the bow and grips it like a long lost friend. He retrieves the arrow, the knife, and the pack of jerky from Neil. I take the mace from Logan's partner. It's still warm where she held it.

When I stand, holding the mace, I feel a sense of relief so profound I almost forget where I am and what's at stake. Logan slings the bow over his shoulder and smiles at me. I feel like I never left his side.

"Ready to go?" He asks.

I nod.

We walk away from our partners, hand-in-hand.


	35. Chapter 35: United

**Chapter 35: United**

Logan and I spend the next hour hunting. Miraculously, Logan hits the first squirrel he sees. He prepares it for cooking while I look for firewood. I've got an armful when the speaker clicks on.

"Great," I say under my breath.

"Good afternoon, Representatives!" Says Thaddeus. "It's time to make your way back to the cornucopia! At dawn tomorrow morning, your presence will be required for another challenge. I look forward to seeing you! And remember, attendance is mandatory!"

The speaker clicks off.

I hurry back to Logan.

"Boy, they like these 'challenges' don't they?" He says. He has a small fire going in a pile of leaves.

"Yeah, I don't get it," I say. "Why can't they just wait for us to kill each other?"

"That's not nearly as entertaining as scaring us," Logan says sarcastically. "They want us to suffer before we kill each other."

I sigh. He's probably right. There's no telling what they've prepared for us.

After a hearty meal of squirrel, we set out for our destination. I climb a tree to see how far we have to go, and the metal glint of the cornucopia shines in the distance.

"They put the cornucopia back," I tell Logan.

"I guess they had to," he says with a grin. "They'd sound pretty stupid telling us to meet up at the big pile of dirt."

We walk at an easy pace for the rest of the afternoon. Logan leads us to the tree where we hid our supplies yesterday morning.

"They're gone," He says, unsurprised.

When night falls, Thaddeus reads out Neil's name, and Vanessa's, Logan's partner from Virginia.

"I wonder if they're going to revoke the rule change tomorrow," Logan says, "Make it so only one can win again. The teams are pretty much gone."

"It doesn't matter," I say. "As long as Miller and that big Colorado guy are alive, we don't have a chance."

Logan puts his arm around me. "We've been saying that for thirteen days and we're not dead yet."

I smile. I guess he's right. We've survived to the final six, and that's something I never thought possible. Maybe we can make it till the end. Maybe they will still let two of us win. Maybe they won't care if the numbers on our shirt don't match.

There are just too many maybes.

Logan and I curl up under my blanket. I am far warmer than I was last night beside Neil. I lay my head on Logan's chest, finding comfort in his scent and his rhythmic heartbeat. Neither of us mentions the kiss we shared, and I'm thankful. I don't know what to say about it. It doesn't change anything.

We're still doomed.

I try to hold my eyes open, but I can't do it. I fall asleep to the sound of Logan's soft breathing.

* * *

My eyes open when the sky starts to lighten. I try to sit up, but Logan tightens his arms around me.

"Wake up," I say softly. "We need to get moving."

"What we _need_," Logan whispers, "Is to stay right here, just like this."

I lay my head down again, humoring him for a few more minutes. We both know it can't last. We eat a few pieces of jerky and put the blanket in my backpack, not bothering to hide it this time.

We arrive at the clearing right at dawn.

Logan takes my hand.

"No matter what happens," He whispers. "I'm on your team."

I nod. We're committed till the end. I wouldn't have it any other way.

"Good morning to you!" Thaddeus says. He is disgustingly cheerful. "Today's challenge will be very similar to the previous one. Please drop your weapons and stand on the launchpad marked with your state's name. Oh, and no fighting please!"

I roll my eyes.

Logan and I exchange one last look before we discard our weapons and walk to the circle of launchpads. I find mine easily. It's right beside Miller's. He gives me an evil smile while he stands towering on my left. Logan's pad is on the other side of the cornucopia. When the plastic capsule shoots up around me, I feel no panic. I stare, expressionless, at Miller as we descend into the launch chambers.

When the capsule door finally slides open, I am met with smiles from James, Marda, and Elias. They hug me briefly, and then get down to business.

"Alanton's not very pleased with you," Marda says while James picks leaves from my hair.

"Why?" I ask.

"Cause it barely took ya a full day to wipe out half the teams," Elias says. His chest puffs out. He's proud of me.

"It's not really that impressive if you consider that one of those teams was mine," I say.

Elias claps me on the back, chuckling. "Well, lucky for you, Thaddeus convinced Alanton to keep up the rule change. Two of ya can still win."

I nod, relief coursing through my blood.

"Okay, so what's happening now?" I ask while James ushers me to the bathroom.

"You're getting a new teammate," James says. "But first," He opens the bathroom door and hands me a fluffy towel, "You're getting a shower."

He gently pushes me in and shuts the door.

_Alright then,_ I think.

I turn on the hot water and bathe as quickly as I can stand. The water feels so nice after the chilly arena.

James flings the door open, making me jump.

"Shave your legs!" He says, and shuts the door.

I oblige, thankful to have an excuse to shower longer.

When I can't think of anymore reasons to stay in, I reluctantly turn the water off. James barges in when I'm only half dry.

"Sorry sweetie, but we're really in a hurry this time." He wraps the towel around me and plops me, dripping, into a chair. He rubs a cream on my legs and arms, soothing my cracked skin. Marda brushes my hair while James tells her how terrible her technique is.

"It's an art form," James snaps, and Marda glares at him.

"Alright, you two," Elias breaks in. "This ain't the time for arguin."

James declares dramatically that he doesn't have enough time to dry my hair.

"Braid it," I say.

James's mouth falls open.

"_Really?_" He says.

I nod my assent. Marda hands me a new outfit and sends me to get dressed. In the bathroom, I put on a thin t-shirt with a green number one. On my bottom half, I pull on a small pair of shorts.

Shorts. Wow.

I put on a new pair of running shoes and look around for more clothing. But there isn't any more. This is how I would normally dress during a Mississippi summer when it's 100 degrees. I don't see how I'll make it five minutes in the arena this way.

I step out of the bathroom, and Marda looks concernedly at my knobby knees. Elias crosses his arms and shakes his head. James pulls me back to the chair and claps excitedly.

"You're going to love it," he promises.

I try to relax. I look at the huge mirror on the wall I'm facing. It seems a bit ridiculous to have such a large mirror for one person. It reminds me of the mirrors I've seen on tv in interrogation rooms.

I gasp.

It's a two way mirror. That's why it's so large. Someone is watching us.

"Who's on the other side of the mirror?" I ask.

James drops the piece of hair he's holding and mutters a curse. Elias looks at the floor.

"Well…" Marda says. "We're not really allowed to say."

I don't push farther. I don't want to get anyone in trouble with Alanton. I ponder the possibilities of the two way glass. I doubt it's Alanton himself in there. The other representatives would need to be watched too. I'm probably still being filmed anyway. There's no need for anyone to spy on me when my actions are broadcast on television. No one except...

"My family," I say, my eyes filling with tears. "It's my family."

No one says anything. I don't want them to. I know I'm right, and this way, no one can be accused of giving me the information.

James pushes my chair closer to the mirror, saying he needs me at a different angle to continue the braid. I know why he really does it. He's letting me be as close to Kade as I can.

I press my hand to the glass, staring into it. My son is in there, staring back. My parents are probably there too. I wonder if Thomas can bear to look at me. If I somehow manage to live through these games, I have a lot of explaining to do.

I lose track of time, my eyes locked on the mirror. James stops fiddling with my hair, but I don't look at it. I'm too busy picturing the other side of the mirror. I wonder if Kade still recognizes me, all bruised and battered. I hope my mom is telling him how much I love him. How much I miss him. How I'm doing all of this for him.

"I'm sorry, hon," Elias says, clearing his throat, "It's time to go."

In the past few weeks, I've done some unspeakable things. I have killed. I have lost. I have been beaten and emotionally wrecked. But the hardest thing I have ever done is take my hand off that glass.

I force my eyes away and head to the launch capsule. James grabs my hand.

"We have to go to a different room first," he says, and tucks my arm into his.

Elias, Marda, and James escort me down a dark corridor until we reach another well lit launch chamber.

"Them gamemakers are tricky," Elias says. "They don't want ya to know where you're gonna pop up when they relaunch ya."

I shrug. I know where I'm going when I get back in the arena. It doesn't matter where I start. I'll be fighting to get to Logan.

"Why didn't we switch rooms last time?" I ask.

"We did," Marda replies. "You were sleeping."

"Ah," I say.

I am led to a capsule with an unmarked launchpad.

"Wait!" James shouts. He pulls me to the mirror. "I want her to see it."

I sigh and look in the glass. My skinny bird legs look vulnerable in the new shorts. My clothes cling to me, showing how much weight I've lost. My body looks like it would break as easy as a toothpick. I cringe.

"No," James says, "Look at your face."

I stare into the eyes of my reflection. My brown eyes are hardened and worn. They have the look of a person who has seen more in her life than she ever wanted to. The swelling in my jaw is nearly gone, my bruises fading to a light purple. James has put my hair in one long braid. It drapes across my left shoulder, drawing attention away from the discoloration of my injury. I certainly don't look pretty, but James is right, the braid suits me. I look powerful. I look like a person who deserves to be in the final six.

"That's what a victor looks like," James says softly.

Elias, Marda, and James stare quietly for a long moment.

I smile, though it doesn't touch my eyes. James and Marda give me lingering hugs. James even manages to hold his emotions in check this time. Elias pulls me tight and plants a kiss on the top of my head. Then I walk into the launch capsule, waiting for whatever comes. I feel like I should be afraid, or at least worried. But I'm not.

When the capsule wall closes, I don't look up. I can't watch these people disappear again. When the launchpad starts rising, I stand, frozen, ignoring the darkness around me. I don't let it creep into my mind, stirring dread and spawning fear. I ball up my fists and shut off my mind.

I'm ready. Whatever happens, whether I leave this arena dead or alive, I'm ready.

The capsule clicks to a stop. In the streaming daylight I see two men on either side of me. Neither of them are Logan, so I ignore them. I stare straight ahead, looking at a gray brick wall where the cornucopia used to be. I guess they abandoned the dirt pile for a more secure structure. Propped against the wall are a sword, an axe, and a spear.

"Here we are again, Representatives!" Thaddeus says. "As always, I will count down from sixty. Please proceed to your teammate, and may the best two win!"

Thaddeus starts counting.

"Are you number three?" The man on my left says.

"I am," says the man on my right.

_Great,_ I say to myself. The two men discuss the weapons as if I'm not standing between them.

"I need the spear," one says.

"I'll take a sword," says the other.

When the countdown closes, I take off. The spear is directly in front of me so I head for it. I can't use any of these weapons well, so I may as well grab one that someone else needs. Before I've made it ten feet, one of the men grabs my ankle. I fall hard, scraping my palms and knees on the dirt. The other man scrambles past me, headed for the spear. My attacker tries to crawl on my back, but I kick and pull too hard for him to release his hold on my foot. I scrape my legs painfully in my attempts to pull away.

"Kill her!" My opponent shouts, trying to grab my other ankle.

His partner approaches. He has retrieved the spear and twirls it menacingly. I kick and flail, punching the man who holds me. His grip loosens, but I can't pull free.

While I watch the man ready his spear, someone sails over the gray wall.

"CORENN!" He cries. "CATCH!"

I have barely registered that it's Logan when he tosses a mace in my direction. The men beside me have no time to react. I catch the mace and in the same motion, slam in into the man who holds me. I wrench my leg and mace free, turning to the man with the spear. He glances around wildly, searching for an escape. An arrow pierces his chest, and he falls. Logan stands beside the gray wall, bow in hand, with a small quiver slung over his shoulder. He has a bold number one on his shirt.

"Time to run," he says.

I couldn't have said it better myself.


	36. Chapter 36: Be Still

**A/N: This is the first chapter I ever wrote for this story. I didn't know the character's names, or how they'd gotten where they were, but I knew there was a woman, and I knew she was saying good bye to the thing she loved most in the world. The story has changed a lot since then, but the tone and message are still the same. I wrote it while listening to The Fray's "Be Still". **

**Chapter 36: Be Still**

We sprint into the trees. I risk a quick glance over my shoulder. Miller and the man from Colorado are collecting their preferred weapons from the wall. For the moment, they ignore us.

Despite Miller's indifference, we keep a quick pace as we flee the clearing. We don't run very far before Logan slows to a halt. He turns to me with a teasing grin.

"Well, partner, what do we do now?" He asks, taking my hand.

I'm thrilled that Logan and I are officially on the same team, but I can't bring myself to joke around.

"I guess we wait," I say. "Miller will come for us eventually."

Logan's smile falters. "Yeah…and we'll take him down."

He doesn't sound very convincing.

We continue walking, though there's no real agenda. I know we should look for water and food, but I can't really focus on that. The likelihood that Logan and I will be killed by Miller is pretty high. I can't imagine, after the many times I've escaped, that he'll make my death quick. There will be pain, and quite a bit of it.

A rumble of thunder growls in the distance.

"Awesome," says Logan.

In a few minutes, the rain begins. It's only a light sprinkle, but it soaks us through after a while. The rain continues into the afternoon. I suppose I should be thankful. We haven't come across a water source, and there is plenty of rainwater pooled on leaves and in puddles.

I am tipping a large leaf, letting the water run down my throat, when I hear the sound of a speaker.

"Here we go," I say.

"Attention representatives," says Verilius Alanton. "As you know, there are only four of you left to compete. Tomorrow at dawn, I will require your presence once again at the launch site. One final challenge awaits you. I urge you to be prepared. Your life will depend on it."

The speaker clicks off.

I lean against a tree, my thirst forgotten.

"We're ready, Corenn," Logan says.

I look at him, soaking wet beside me. His hair is stuck to his face, and there's a large cut down his cheek. His eyes are sad, but calm. I know he doesn't mean that we're ready to win these Games.

He means we're ready to die.

We're ready for this to be over.

I nod in agreement. I've done more than most people will ever be forced to do. Logan and I have been through enough. We don't have much farther to go, and we'll be free of this place.

We walk in silence for the remainder of the afternoon. The rain slows to an invisible drizzle. Before dark, I spot a tree with a thick canopy.

"Maybe we can sleep there." I say. "It won't be as wet."

We plop down under the tree. The ground is damp, but not spongy with moisture. It'll have to do.

Thaddeus announces the deaths of the two men Logan and I killed this morning. It might be my imagination, but Thaddeus sounds much more somber than usual.

"So what do you want to do with our last night?" Logan asks.

I curl up next to him, trying to get warm. "I want to pretend we're somewhere else," I say.

Logan pulls me into his lap, cradling me against his chest. My muscles tense at his closeness. I know this isn't proper. I'm a married woman. I shouldn't be this close to a man that isn't my husband.

But I don't pull away.

I'll never see Thomas again. I will die beside Logan. He's the only person I have left to be loyal to.

"Have you ever been to London?" Logan asks.

I shake my head. I've never been anywhere.

"Close your eyes," he says.

I look at him suspiciously, but I oblige.

"Picture yourself on a street full of lights and people," Logan says. "You can smell at least a dozen different foods. There are street performers singing, and you can see Big Ben in the distance, with its lights reflecting in the water. It isn't cold, and it isn't hot. It's perfect."

I shiver against Logan's chest, but I picture his words. I see myself there with Logan. He continues to tell me about different places he's been, and I form them in my mind. We go to Paris, Rome, Tokyo, and New York. The closer I get to sleep, the more real our travel becomes. I feel like we're away from the arena. And together. And happy.

* * *

I wake with a jerk when Logan touches my shoulder. The moon is waning. It's time to head to our final challenge. We stand, still soaked, and brush away the leaves and grime that stick to our bodies. I take a few deep breaths, steeling myself for what's to come. Logan scans the trees, searching for something. His eyes land on a small hole in the tree we slept under.

A camera.

Logan backs away from the tree so the camera can see him clearly.

"Mom…I love you" he says softly. "You don't have to worry anymore. I'll be watching over you."

He puts his face in his hands and I rush to his side. He holds me close and I try not to cry. When he pulls away, I look at the camera. I feel like I should say something, leave my last message to the world before I'm gone.

But I don't want to talk to the world.

"Kade?" I say, my voice choked with emotion, "I need you to remember something for Mommy, okay? Remember that…I'm always with you." Logan puts his arm around me. "If you're ever scared," My voice breaks, "Or if you're lonely," I clutch Logan for support. "Just remember, Mommy's there, okay? Mommy's still there."

I blow a kiss at the camera and Logan hugs me. The sky starts to lighten. We pull away from each other, Logan giving me a tortured glance. Then he starts walking.

"Wait," I say, pulling him to a stop.

I have one more good bye to say.

"I have to do this...in case we die," I tell him, repeating the words he said to me such a short time ago.

I wrap my arms around Logan's neck, pressing my lips to his. He embraces me, his arms folding me into his sheltering warmth. My eyes flutter shut, savoring this last moment of intimacy. Between us, there is passion, there is affection, there is understanding. And there is sorrow.

Good-byes are never easy, but this one tears my soul. This is our finale. Whatever Logan and I had, or might have had— it's over now. Whoever we were, whatever we cared about.

It's over.

I am the one who pulls away first. As soon as I do, I look down and start walking. I can't bear to hear anything Logan might say. I can't bear the sadness in his eyes.

_If you forget the way to go_

_and lose where you came from,_

_if no one is standing beside you_

_be still and know I am_

_Be still and know that I'm with you_

_Be still and know _

_I am._

-"Be Still"_, _The Fray


	37. Chapter 37: Strong

**Chapter 36: Strong**

We hurry into the clearing, the sky still dim with cloud cover. It's hard to tell what time it is, but Miller and his partner aren't even here yet. Logan and I stand on the outskirts of the clearing, panting and searching for our opponents. The brick wall is still standing where the cornucopia used to be. Logan and I move to face the side of the wall so the barrier won't block our view. The launchpads are covered with dirt. There are four small flags placed on skinny poles near each corner of the wall. One of the flags is green, one is gray, one is red, and the other is orange.

_They're our state colors_, I realize. I open my mouth to tell Logan, but I clamp it shut when Miller appears from the trees across from us. The burly man from Colorado walks beside him, looking a bit haggard, but largely recovered from his injuries.

"It has come to this," says Alanton's voice.

I jump. I didn't even hear the speaker click on. Logan puts a steady hand on my shoulder.

"Though only two of you will survive this encounter - I must say - all four of you have shown immense courage," Alanton says. "Today, two of you will return home to your families and friends. You will return to fame, fortune, and the honor of helping your state. For the two of you who do not return, my hope is that you remain courageous and die with dignity."

I think I might be hyperventilating. My breaths come in ragged gasps, but my body is straight. The mace feels alive in my hand. I am afraid. More afraid than I've ever been. But I won't give up. I will fight with ferocity. I will die with my opponent's blood on my hands.

"Please drop your weapons," says Alanton.

I grip my mace even tighter. My eyes dart wildly to Logan's. He has made no move to drop his bow.

"I will not ask again," Alanton warns. "Drop your weapons. Now."

I still hesitate, but I hear the clunk of Logan's bow falling to the ground. I reluctantly lower my arm and let the mace slide to the ground. I am defenseless. I watch as Miller tosses his sword to the ground. The man from Colorado looks a bit nervous as he lays down his axe.

"Good, good," Alanton says, sounding disappointed that he didn't get to punish us. "As you can see, there are four flags arranged in front of you. Please proceed to the flag depicting your state's color."

Logan slips his hand around mine. We walk briskly to the wall, where our flags stand. I feel numb and cold, gripping Logan for support. Miller and the Colorado man move to their flags. Miller stands directly in front of me at the other end of the wall. I force my eyes to stare in his. I won't let him know I'm afraid.

Logan drops my hand and steps to his flag.

"The person standing across from you is your final opponent," Alanton says. "For five minutes, you will be required to fight without your teammate. The wall will serve as a barrier between you. It will slowly lower into the ground. When the wall has fully lowered, you will know that five minutes has past. At this time, if your partner is still alive, you will be allowed to assist each other. You may retrieve your weapons at any time, so long as you do not interact with your partner in any way."

Alanton's words make my heart race. Five minutes. I have to fight with Miller, alone, for five minutes. I spread my feet apart and grit my teeth. I will make it the hardest five minutes of Miller Hughes' life.

"When the gong sounds, the fighting will begin," Alanton says. It's clear how much he's enjoying this. "The first annual Hunger Games has been a great success, and I thank you for your participation. Congratulations to the winners, and to the losers...it will all be over soon." He chuckles as if he's made a joke.

The speaker shuts off. It seems the time for countdowns has passed.

Miller stares at me with maniacal eyes. His shoulders rise and fall with his breaths, reminding me of a raging bull. I stare right back, letting the adrenaline course through me. As soon as the gong sounds, I will run.

I will run to my mace.

I adjust my stance so Miller will think I plan to charge at him, and I ball my sweaty palms into fists.

_Bong, bong, bong._

The buzzer echoes across the arena. Miller springs to action before I do. I whirl around, flinging dirt behind me. I take off, using every ounce of energy to reach my mace. I hear Miller's pursuit. My heart sinks.

I'm not going to make it.

Miller's arms grab me from behind, and he tackles me. My already wounded legs throb as they scrape across the dirt. I squirm to free myself, still focused on reaching the mace. Miller seems to be everywhere at once. He grabs at my hands and legs, while pushing his knee into my back. I flail and buck, keeping him from getting a solid hold. He moves his knee, and I flip over.

Miller is kneeling, a frustrated sneer on his face. I kick out with both legs, aiming for his chest. He dodges the blow and grabs my ankles, locking his arms around them. He yanks my legs, pulling me closer. I try to punch him, but he blocks me easily. He takes one hand away from my legs and grabs my shoulder, shoving me into the dirt.

I jerk my legs free, but Miller ignores them. He growls in aggravation. I continue to squirm, but I make no progress. Miller grabs my shirt and pulls me to a sitting position. I yank my arm back, and I finally land a punch, right in Miller's left eye. He blinks quickly, but shows no other signs of pain. He wraps his arms around my waist and hoists me onto his shoulder like a sack. I punch and kick as he gets to his feet. He grunts when my flailing limbs make contact. He walks toward the gray wall, my protests being largely ignored. I glance over the top of it, spotting Logan on the other side. He and the Colorado man are brawling on the ground. The Colorado man is trying to reach his axe, and Logan is furiously trying to keep him from it.

I continue my struggle to no avail. Eventually, Miller gets tired of my punching and kicking. He throws me down. I writhe in the dirt, gasping for breath. He falls on me again, punching me in the face. He swings back for another punch, but I grab his arm, clawing with my fingernails. He wrenches his arm away. I sit up and grab his hair, feeling clumps of it give way as I yank. Miller yelps and shoves me back to the ground. My head hits hard. Black spots swim in my vision.

I hear a loud grinding sound. Miller hears it too, and pauses his onslaught. The wall is starting to lower.

"Don't worry, Mississippi," Miller spits. "You won't make it five minutes."

He straddles me, sitting on my legs.

"Watch me," I say.

I dodge Miller's next punch and grab his shirt, pulling myself up. He hits me in the side, but I ignore it. I keep my grip on his shirt, pulling it down to expose flesh. Then I sink my teeth into his shoulder.

"AHHH!" Miller yelps. He jerks away, and I taste blood in my mouth.

I use his small moment of surprise to push as hard as I can.

Miller falls backwards and I pull my legs out from under him. He crashes to the ground. I fall on top of him. I know I can't hold him down, so I use my moment of power to knee him squarely in the groin. His breath _whooshes_ out, but he keeps his composure. He pulls me to his chest and rolls over, pinning me to the ground again. I follow the momentum of his roll to keep us moving. We flip again, and I'm on top for a few seconds. We keep the roll going, neither of us willing to be pinned in the dirt.

I wonder vaguely if we will roll for the rest of our five minutes. Then, a painful scream tears through the air.

_Logan._

Miller pins me to the ground with a victorious "HA!" I ignore him, my thoughts frozen on Logan's scream. Miller pushes me aside, freeing my legs. I scramble to sit up. The gray wall is lowered more than halfway into the ground. I can see the Colorado man from the waist up, holding his huge axe. His face is swollen and covered in blood, but it's clear from his expression that he's winning the fight. I can't see Logan. He must be on the ground. Maybe even dead already.

My limbs feel heavy. No one is hurting me, but I've never felt such pain in my life. Another scream peals through the air. I breathe a sigh of relief.

It's a battle cry. Logan isn't giving up. I see the surprise on the Colorado man's face before he falls to the ground.

"I should've seen it before," Miller says behind me.

I turn around and my stomach clenches. Miller is holding his sword.

"I didn't want to take on you and Reinhart," He continues, "I figured you guys would be tough to beat, but I guess not." He pulls me to my feet. "He makes you weak."

We stand face to face. Miller's sword looks much larger up close. I back away a few steps. This is not the first time I've been told that my emotions make me weak. I remember Marda saying something very similar on the night before the Games.

Miller swings his sword. I dart out of the way, feeling a small scratch on my arm. The sword comes at me over and over. I dodge all of his attacks, but my shoulder and both of my arms show bloody gashes. I don't know how deep they are, and I don't care. I can still move. I can still fight.

Miller's words keep up a constant echo in my mind.

_He makes you weak._

I glance again at the gray wall. Only a tiny wedge still stands above the ground. The five minutes are almost up. Miller's swings take longer each time. He is tiring. I duck under a swipe from the sword and barrel into him. I push as hard as I can, and finally he loses his balance. He falls backwards, still gripping the sword. I grab his arm, pushing it to the ground. I claw, bite, punch, and yell. I will do anything to get him to drop his weapon. For a split second, his grip loosens, and I take my chance.

I push the sword out of his hand and grab it in my own. I scramble to stand up while Miller does the same.

"You're wrong," I say.

Miller has a bloody nose, and tufts of his hair are missing. His clothes are torn and stretched, and he gasps for breath. I feel a surge of confidence that I inflicted this much damage on such a strong opponent.

"What?" Miller says, wiping blood from his face.

"You're wrong about Logan and me," I say. I hold the sword up, ready to attack. "He makes me strong."

I rush toward him. I hold on to the sword with both hands, hoping I'll have enough strength to damage Miller. The sword is heavy, but I hold it straight. Miller's eyes light up with surprise. He doesn't have time to move.

I slam into him. The sword makes contact. I keep pushing. I don't know where I've hit Miller, but I know I've done some damage. He pushes me away. I try not to let go of the sword, but it's lodged too deeply in Miller's body. I stumble backwards but manage to stay on my feet.

The sword has pierced Miller's chest. Blood soaks his shirt and shorts, and drips down onto the dirt. I couldn't have placed the sword any better. Miller falls to his knees, shock plainly written on his face. I turn to the wall. It's fully lowered. The five minutes are over. I look around for Logan, and spot him near his bow. He lays flat on the ground. Blood is everywhere. The Colorado man stands over him with his axe, facing my direction. His face pales when he looks at Miller.

Miller yanks the sword free, and his blood pours out even faster. The sword clatters to the ground and Miller falls forward. Everyone is frozen for a moment. Then the gun fires.

I turn to Logan's opponent, and his axe falters a bit. I hurry in his direction, trying to run, but everything hurts. The colorado man abruptly drops his stance. Logan is too injured to attack, but he raises up and pulls himself across the ground.

Toward my mace.

I want to cry out for him to get to the woods. To save himself, while I fight the man from Colorado. But I can see he won't make it. The closer I get, the more alarmed I am by Logan's injuries. His right leg is crushed. There's blood seeping and bone protruding and I don't know what else. I can't bear to keep looking at it. His body is covered with bruises, cuts, and scrapes.

Rage courses through me. I turn my narrowed eyes to the man from Colorado. He sees me and takes off, heading for the cover of the forest. I hold my course, still running to Logan. His body creeps across the ground, agony in his eyes. Finally, he reaches my mace. His bloody hand flings it in my direction. I bend to catch it.

"End it," Logan says hoarsely.

The Colorado man runs desperately for cover. He's gaining a lot of ground in his relatively uninjured state. I'll have to throw the mace. The distance is greater than any of those stupid dummies during training. I've never made a throw this far. I glance at Logan's bleeding body. If I miss, if I can't kill the man from Colorado, Logan will die. I start running. I need to get as close as I can. I force my legs to move faster, closing the distance between me and my target. Just before the man disappears into the trees, I loose the mace.

I fall to my knees with a grunt. There's no strength left in me. Everything I had went into that throw. I watch as it sails through the air. The Colorado man almost reaches the forest.

The mace lodges in his head with a crunch.

The impact propels him forward a few more feet, but he falls. The gun fires.

And it's over.

I press my hands to the ground. Relief courses through my body, making my limbs feel like jelly. I gasp for air and turn back to Logan.

He isn't moving.

"Logan?" I call. I crawl across the grimy dirt, ignoring the rocks that scrape my skin. Logan's eyes are closed. His face is pale.

"Logan!" I cry. "Wake up!" I pick his head up gently, sliding it onto my lap. He doesn't respond.

"It's over! We won!" I yell. My voice echoes through the silent arena. "Someone do something!"

My hysteria rises, but nothing happens.

I run my dirty fingers through Logan's hair. They are covered in blood. Miller's, Logan's, mine. The sticky red stains Logan's blond tresses, so I stop.

Abruptly, a metal grinding sounds from the center of the arena.

My eyes dart wildly, expecting danger. Logan's bow is close, but I doubt it would be of much use to me. I gently place Logan's head back on the dirt. Slowly, I stand, every muscle in my body screaming for mercy. I make my way to the hole where the gray wall disappeared and bend my head over the side.

Ascending to the surface are six men and women. They wear pristine, white scrubs, and two stretchers are crowded between them. A lift brings them slowly toward me. I spot Dr. Dawson among the group.

"Help!" I yell. "Logan needs help!"

"We're coming, Corenn," Dr. Dawson says calmly, but frustration is plain in his voice. "We had to wait for _permission_ to come to you."

I stomp my feet in aggravation. This is Alanton's doing. He delayed the medical team, knowing how severe Logan's injuries are. I bet this was the plan all along. He surely expected there to be serious injuries in this fight. He never intended for two of us to live. He probably wouldn't have cared if we all died, as long as it was entertaining.

Dr. Dawson shifts impatiently as the lift nears the surface. The rest of the medical staff looks nervous. Their eyes are trained on me, and they glance at each other in alarm. I take a few steps back.

_They're afraid of me,_ I realize. They've seen what I'm capable of, and it scares them. When the platform grinds to a halt, Dr. Dawson runs to Logan. The others hesitate, eyeing me like a predator. I back away and hold up my hands.

"Just help him," I say, "Please."

They move to Logan slowly, never turning their back on me. Dr. Dawson checks Logan's pulse.

"He's alive," the doctor says.

I collapse to my knees. Dr. Dawson barks orders, and the white clad team snaps into action. They pull tubes, cloths, and instruments from bags strapped to the stretchers. They bend over Logan, blocking him from my view. Two assistants stand aside, warily looking at me.

I want to yell at them. To tell them to stop staring like idiots and help the others. But I know what they're doing. They're supposed to be helping _me_.

I inch toward them, trying to look unthreatening. I'm sure I still look like a crazed madwoman, covered in blood, torn clothing, dirt from head to toe.

"I don't need anything," I tell them.

"Let them help you, Corenn," Dr. Dawson says without looking up. I prepare a retort, but when I look down, Dr. Dawson is bent over Logan's leg. It doesn't look much like a leg anymore.

"No," I say. It sounds less stern than I meant it. The two assistants don't push, and Dr. Dawson is preoccupied. I pace, stirring up dust with my dragging feet. I want to sit, but I'm afraid I might black out. I know I can't do anything to help Logan, but I can't rest until I know he's okay.

After a few minutes of pacing, my composure is hanging by a thread. Dr. Dawson decides to move Logan to a stretcher.

The medical team lines up around him and counts to three, hoisting him from the ground. Logan wakes up, screaming and fighting. The group nearly drops him, and I fall into hysteria. I crouch down, curling my knees to my chest and covering my ears. Logan's screams pierce through me, and I knot my hands in my hair.

"Your turn, Corenn," Dr. Dawson says. He pats the empty stretcher.

I shakily rise to my feet. "I'll walk."

One of the assistants jams a needle into Logan's arm, calming him quickly

Dr. Dawson sighs. "Suit yourself." He motions to the others. "We need to hurry."

The white-clad team moves with precision, each person knowing their job and doing it. They move to their entry platform, and I follow, trying to keep up. My legs just aren't functioning like they're supposed to. I reach the platform as it starts to descend, panting with exhaustion.

The crew hovers over Logan, installing all sorts of tubes and gadgets in different places. Everybody looks worried. I want to ask questions, but I'm afraid to distract anyone. I stand awkwardly pressed into a corner, giving the medical team as much space as possible. My shoulder screams with pain, but I don't want to look at it. One spot on my thigh burns with every movement. And I'm cold. So, so cold. I don't know if it's the temperature of the chamber, or if my blood loss is becoming severe. It doesn't matter. Either way, I'm not going to interrupt the doctors.

A shrill beeping makes me jump. The team bustles frantically, and Dr. Dawson barks orders. Everyone scrambles to obey. I cower in the corner, trying not to watch, but I can't tear my eyes away. I catch glimpses of each face as they dart around Logan's limp form. One man drips with sweat. An older woman looks like she might cry. As a whole, every one of them looks very, very afraid.

My body starts shaking again. My knees threaten to buckle and my teeth chatter audibly. I cover my eyes with a bony hand and try to block out the chaos. Soon, the beeping becomes more regular and things slow down again. I still don't uncover my eyes.

The lift grinds to a halt. I pry my hands away to see we've arrived at a large doorway. The medical team pushes Logan's stretcher hurriedly through the opening, forgetting about me. I stumble along behind them, numbly noting that some part of my body drips blood on the white-tiled floor. We enter a well-lit hallway. I force my legs to continue while I blink and squint. I have to stay with Logan.

Logan is wheeled through a massive set of double doors. I quicken my pace to slip through before they close. We reach a large room filled with medical equipment. Dr. Dawson attaches things to Logan while the rest of the staff grabs various items from drawers and cabinets. I stand in the entryway, staring and bleeding. No one looks at me.

Dr. Dawson murmurs urgently to the rest of the team while they work. I catch snippets like "vitals" and "tissue damage" but I don't know what any of it means. The room is spinning a bit, ruining my attempts to listen. I grab a nearby countertop to keep me upright.

Soon, the group is in motion again. They bustle to the doorway with Logan in tow. I step aside while they rush past. Dr. Dawson says something to me, but I don't hear it. My feet are on auto-pilot. They will follow Logan wherever he goes. We traverse a myriad of hallways.

When we reach our destination, two guards part to let Logan's stretcher through a doorway. I hobble behind, ignoring the guards.

One of them grabs my arm lightly.

"I'm sorry, but you can't go in," he says.

I pull my arm away and stare at the guard. His eyes widen as he takes in my appearance.

"I have to," I say. My voice sounds far away.

The guards exchange a glance. They look nervous, like I might claw their eyes out if they don't listen to me.

"Look," I say, searching for words, "I won't...touch anything. I just...just..."

Dr. Dawson appears in the doorway. He surveys me from head to toe.

"You need medical attention," he says.

I try to shake my head, but the world blurs.

"No," I muster. "Not till Logan's safe."

Dr. Dawson sighs. "He's being prepped for surgery. There's nothing you can do right now."

"I know," I clutch my head and shut my eyes. "I just..." I can't think of the right words. "Please," I say.

Dr. Dawson chews his lip for a moment.

"Let her in," he says.

The guards step aside, and I stumble through the door, taking the doctor's offered arm. This room is small, but the many doors leading elsewhere are open, giving the illusion of a bigger space. Logan lies on a clean stretcher. The bloody one from the arena sits forgotten in the middle of the floor. One woman attends Logan, holding a mask over his face and watching a machine.

"He's stable right now," Dr. Dawson says. "I need to scrub up, but I want to get you sedated and in an examination room. You've lost a lot of blood. I don't know how you're still standing."

He grabs a flimsy chair and sits it next to Logan's stretcher. Dr. Dawson nods to the woman beside Logan, and she leaves. I plop into the chair, wincing as my body protests. I take Logan's blood covered hand in my own. He feels cold, lifeless. And I feel helpless. There's nothing to do now but wait. Logan may live or die, but I can't protect him anymore. He'll have to fight this battle alone.

Dr. Dawson rustles through a drawer behind me. I don't bother to find out what he's doing. I can't take my eyes from Logan's face. This may be the last time we're alive and together. I take in every detail of his swollen face, his blood-matted hair, and his shattered leg. But this isn't the Logan I want to remember. I picture the strong, handsome man in the gray suit at the opening ceremony. I picture his glistening skin as he glided through the water. I picture his smile when I said something ridiculous. That's the Logan I will treasure. I'll remember him like he was- brave and beautiful.

He would like that.

I say nothing when Dr. Dawson approaches with a needle. He puts a tentative hand on my shoulder.

"Are you ready?" He asks.

I nod, but I don't look away from Logan. A slight prick on my forearm barely registers, but my eyes droop in seconds. The room dims around me, and I rest my head on Logan's stretcher, my hand still holding his. I look at Dr. Dawson, watching me sympathetically from above.

"Save him," I whisper.

And I close my eyes.

* * *

I'm in the meadow again. It's bright and warm. Kade is chasing butterflies, and he claps jovially when he notices me.

"You came back!" He says.

"Of course," I reply, though I don't remember where I've been.

I look around, searching for Thomas. The picnic basket sits on a blanket in the grass. Instead of Thomas, a blond man sits with his back to me, pulling food from the basket.

"Logan!" I cry. I rush to him, tackling him in my excitement. "You're okay!"

Miraculously, he doesn't drop his food.

"Never better," Logan says.

Sprawled beneath me on the ground, he looks healthy and perfect, just like he should be. I glance at my own body. I wear a clean sundress. It fits the curves of my body, curves I shouldn't have. I have no bruises, no wounds, no scars.

"This isn't real," I say, and shift away from Logan.

Logan shrugs. "Who cares? We're together, and that's what matters."

I manage a small smile.

For a long time we sit and watch Kade. We talk about meaningless things and shove food in our mouths. The picnic basket never empties, and the sun never sets. It is a perfect day.

All too soon, Logan takes my hand and pulls me to my feet.

"You have to go now," He says.

"I don't want to," I reply.

Logan laughs. "That's not how this works."

I look at the ground and scrub my toe in the dirt. "What if you're not there when I wake up?"

Logan sweeps me into a tight hug. "I'll still be here, waiting for you."

I hug him back, longing to stay, wishing for more time to prepare for what lies ahead.

Logan pulls away. I turn to Kade.

"I'll see you soon Mommy," he says.

I grin. "I can't wait."

Logan walks me to the edge of the lush meadow. The trees ahead look dark and menacing. Logan plants a kiss on my forehead.

"It's time to be strong again," he says. "Can you do that for me?"

I nod reluctantly.

Logan smiles. He steps away, returning to the picnic and to Kade.

I take a deep breath and walk away.


	38. Chapter 38: Recovery

**Chapter 37: Recovery**

It's dark, and I hurt. There's no sound except for the whirr of medical machines.

My eyes flutter open.

I am in a dim room. The small windows on my right show a hazy light. I don't know if the sun is rising or setting. I try to sit up, but fail. My right arm and shoulder burn with the slightest movement. I wear a loose hospital gown. It sags around my bony body. An IV drip hangs beside the bed, flowing into my arm. Several bruises and bandages are scattered across my exposed skin. With considerable effort, I force the covers away from my legs. They are a mass of scrapes, bruises, and bandages.

I try to sit up again, but I still can't manage it. There isn't a place on my body that doesn't ache, so I give up, deciding to rest a few minutes before trying again.

I doze. I wake up periodically, but my eyes are heavy and I drift off. The next time my eyes stay open, the sun streams brightly in my window. Dr. Dawson hovers around my bed, checking the machines.

"How do you feel?" He asks.

"It hurts."

"I know," he replies. "I'll have someone give you another dose of medication."

I don't reply. I stare at my hands, knowing Dr. Dawson will get around to telling me about Logan. I don't want to rush it. I'm not sure I want to hear it at all.

"Mr. Reinhart came through his surgery just fine," Dr. Dawson says.

I jerk my head up, searching for any hint of deception.

Dr. Dawson smiles. "I was even able to salvage the leg, though he'll need extensive physical therapy."

I rest my head on my pillow and blink back tears.

_Logan's alive!_

I try to cover my face, but my arms are too heavy.

"Thank you," I whisper.

Dr. Dawson pats me softly on the foot, which appears to be my only uninjured body part. He checks each of my bandages, and my eyes and ears. He makes me move my arms and legs, which is so painful that I curse him viciously. He doesn't seem to mind.

The rest of the day goes by in a blur. I am given ridiculously small portions of food at regular intervals. Dr. Dawson keeps his word about the pain medication, so I get a few more hours of blissful sleep. The worst part comes when a woman from the medical team changes my bandages. I curse her more derisively than I did Dr. Dawson, and she seems to mind quite a bit more than he did.

When night falls, my mind wanders. I wonder how long they'll keep me in this tiny room. No one has mentioned anything about my family coming to visit, or when I can see Logan. The elation of survival starts to fade. I've spent all this time struggling to stay alive.

And now I have to live with it.

I've done some terrible things, all in the name of saving my family, or saving Logan. I was so certain of my death, I never considered what I would do if I _lived._ I guess I thought my death would redeem me somehow. Even though I'd killed, I would be killed too. I would suffer the same injustice that I inflicted on others. And somehow, that made me feel better. It made me feel less guilty. I deserved to die for what I'd done.

But I didn't.

Now is the time to feel guilty, to hold myself accountable for the evils I've committed. I try to think of each face, each person I murdered, but I can't. I don't even know their names. The old Corenn would mourn for each person in turn. The old Corenn would have their names memorized. But I'm not the old Corenn.

I push the guilt to the back of my mind. I'll deal with it later, when I have someone to talk to, someone to help me through it.

When I'm with Logan again.

I try to close my eyes and rest. I dream of Eleanor and Charles. I dream of Logan's mangled leg. When Dr. Dawson comes to check on me at dawn, I am awake and gripping the bed to keep my eyes from closing again.

"You should be resting," he says.

"I can't."

Dr. Dawson perches on the chair beside my bed.

"Are you in pain?" He asks. I can tell he already knows the answer.

"No," I say. "Not really."

Dr. Dawson leans forward. "I want to help you, Corenn. What do you need?"

I am silent for a few beats. "I need to see Logan," I say.

Dr. Dawson hangs his head. "I'm sorry," he says. "But I can't help with that. My hands are tied."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask.

"The medical staff has been informed that you and Logan are not to interact until the Closing Ceremonies."

My heart sinks. "When's that?"

"We'll have to wait for Logan to recover enough to attend the event. It's up to him."

Dr. Dawson grips my hand. I hadn't realized I was shaking.

_Alone._ I will have to go through the next few days alone. Without my partner. The only one left who truly understands what I went through in the arena. Dr. Dawson's eyes are on my face. He becomes more and more alarmed as my thoughts carry me away. He stands up.

"I'm going to give you a sedative," He says bluntly. "You'll be able to sleep in peace." He sticks his head out the door and says something. Then he returns. "I'm going to see if I can't make things a little better for you while you rest."

A woman peeks in the door and hands him a syringe. He injects a yellow fluid into my IV tube.

I watch him without complaint.

"Do you feel tired yet?" He asks.

"I don't remember what it's like to _not_ feel tired," I reply.

Dr. Dawson smiles grimly. "Yes, well, you're safe now, Corenn. You can rest."

I let my eyes close, and I try to get comfortable. The medicine takes effect, my mind growing foggy. I repeat Dr. Dawson's words in my head.

_You're safe now. You're safe now. You're safe now._

But I don't believe it.

* * *

The next time my eyes open, the mid-afternoon sun bathes my room in warmth. My head is still foggy from the sedative, and the brightness of the room makes me groan.

"Are ya hurtin, Hon?"

I nearly jump out of my skin. My head jerks to the chair beside my bed. Elias sits, wide-eyed and alarmed, ready to hop from his seat to help me. I smile, immediately calmed. A slow grin spreads across Elias's face.

"Well, ya did it," he says. "Ya made it." His eyes get misty. "I can't tell ya how proud I am. And how thankful."

I look away. The old Corenn was much better with emotional conversations.

"Thanks," I say.

Elias clears his throat and relaxes in the chair.

"Doc says your havin trouble sleepin," He says.

"Yeah, a little." I shrug.

Elias grins. "You were doin a pretty good job of it when I came in."

I laugh softly. There's nothing like a talk with Elias to lighten my mood.

For the rest of the afternoon, Elias talks, and I listen. He doesn't ask me any questions, and he doesn't talk about upsetting things. He tells me my family misses me "somethin fierce" and that James and Marda wanted to come sit with me too but they weren't allowed. He explains that Dr. Dawson appealed to Alanton himself in order to get permission for someone to visit me. Alanton would allow no relatives, and only one member of my prep team.

"Doc told him ya needed somebody to help with your "psychological condition", or somethin like that," Elias says. "Alanton tried to hire ya a specialist, but Doc argued him down. Told him ya just needed somebody ya knew."

I should really try to be nicer to Dr. Dawson.

When the sun gets low in the sky, a man brings us supper. Elias is served a heaping plate of meat and potatoes.

I get half a sandwich and some kind of milky protein shake.

Elias slips me bites of his food while I try to down the nasty drink.

When "dinner" is over, Dr. Dawson comes to check on me.

"How's Logan?" I blurt before he can say anything.

Dr. Dawson smiles. "We're keeping him heavily sedated for now," he says. "But his vitals are holding up nicely, and everything is healing like it's supposed to." He fiddles with one of my monitors. "He's going to be just fine, Corenn, but it's going to take some time."

I sigh.

Time.

A few days ago, I thought I had so little of it. Now, I'm in a holding pattern, waiting for life to make sense again.

I wonder if it ever will.

Dr. Dawson checks every injury on my body, even the smallest scrape. He makes notes on a clipboard and keeps up a polite conversation with Elias. I don't bother listening to them. I stare outside. The sun is setting, and the sky is a lovely shade of orange. It makes me think of Logan. I don't know why. I guess anything beautiful reminds me of him. I wonder what he's dreaming about in his endless slumber.

"Did ya hear that, Renn?" Elias says, slapping his knee.

"Wait, what?" I snap my attention back to the men beside my bed.

"We're going to get you out of bed tomorrow and let you walk around," Dr. Dawson says. "If you can manage without much trouble, then we'll discharge you the next morning. You'll get to see your family."

My face lights up. "Really?"

"Really," says Dr. Dawson.

I think of Kade and his perfect little face. Oh, how I've missed that boy. But what will he think of me? I look at my body. There's hardly any skin that isn't damaged in some way. My heart sinks.

"They can't see me like this," I say. "I'll scare them."

Elias shakes his head. "Now don't you worry about that," he says. "James is gonna fix ya up real nice before ya leave here."

I'm comforted immediately. James can work miracles with makeup. He'll make me look presentable, at least.

Dr. Dawson finishes his examination and leaves. A woman comes in with a blanket and pillow for Elias. He arranges them on his chair and insists that he's comfortable. I know he isn't, but I don't want him to leave, so I pretend I believe him. I sleep peacefully and dreamlessly, with hope that tomorrow will be my last day of confinement.

In the morning, Dr. Dawson comes, as promised, and helps me out of bed. My sore body aches with displeasure, but I refuse to complain. I walk around the tiny room for a while, and when Dr. Dawson is satisfied, he allows me to walk in the maze-like corridors outside the door. Elias stays close in case I fall, but after I get used to being on my feet, I don't stumble even once. My right leg throbs with each step. The dense lines of stitches pull with every movement. And I don't care. I will show Dr. Dawson that I'm well enough to leave this place. I don't care how much it hurts.

I spend most of the day walking and resting at regular intervals. I guzzle my nasty shake at lunchtime, and I keep walking. I feel stronger already. Being helpless in bed only added to my problems, and now I'm passed that. With so many issues to resolve in my mind, I'm glad to be free of one of them. By suppertime, Dr. Dawson is absolutely convinced that I'm ready to be discharged.

"I'd let you leave tonight, but your stylist says your dress isn't ready," He says.

I roll my eyes. There's no telling what James will make me wear.

Elias's snores lull me to sleep again, and for once, my dreams are hopeful.

**A/N: First of all, THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU for reading! Second of all, I've got to say, one of the things that bugged me about ****_The Hunger Games_**** was that it ended so abruptly after the Games. I understand why- Suzanne Collins didn't want to start up the second book before the first one was over- but hey, I don't have to do that! I wanted some details about the immediate aftermath of the Games, especially some Katniss/Peeta moments (that weren't in front of a camera). So I guess what I'm saying is...I've written six more chapters for this story, and most of them aren't essential. But I will post them over time, and you can read them if you'd like to (I hope you'd like to!). **


	39. Chapter 39: Reunion

**Chapter 38: Reunion**

I awaken to a shower of hugs and kisses from James. He collapses on my bed when I open my eyes, crying and telling me how sure he was that I would win. I hug him and laugh even though his embrace makes my sore body ache. In no time, he gets down to business. He sends Elias away, telling him this isn't the place for "unfashionables" like him. He clears off a tiny counter in the bathroom and has a fit about the terrible lighting.

I watch it all with pleasure. James's mood and the excitement of the day have me feeling lighter than I have in ages. James pulls Elias's chair in the bathroom and orders me into it. When I pass the mirror, my face falls. I am unrecognizable. My hair is a matted mess, and the left side of my face is peppered with purple bruises. My collarbones stick out so grotesquely that it's disturbing. I look like a zombie.

"James," I whisper. "I don't think you can fix this."

James clucks like a mother hen, insisting that I'll be as lovely as ever when he's done. My reflection haunts me even after James turns on the hot water in the shower. I stand under the warm rain while James tries to wash, buff, and polish the tiny bits of skin that look normal. My torso is relatively uninjured, so he spends the most time there.

"No one's going to see my stomach," I say, as James rubs a rough paste around.

"I know, baby doll," he says, "I'm doing this for you." He picks out a new cream and squirts it in his hand. "You need to feel like yourself again, and looking normal is the first step."

I want to argue, but I let him have his way. When I exit the shower, I have to admit my skin has a healthy glow. Maybe James can find a way to cover up this mess after all.

He spends an hour combing my hair.

I fall asleep in the chair three times before he moves on to my face. He layers so many products that I'm convinced I will look like a clown, but when he moves away, I'm floored. I can still see the purplish marks on my jaw, but they aren't frightening. I don't look like a killer who won her last fight. I look like a young woman who has been through an ordeal.

James covers the worst of my wounds with thin, flesh-colored bandages. He covers some of the bruises on my chest with makeup. He dries my hair and lets it fall loosely around my shoulders, and then he helps me into my clothes.

The outfit is a simple green dress. It's made of cotton, and it flows loosely to the floor. James ties a thick ribbon above my waist, but not very tight. He doesn't want to draw attention to my emaciated body. He lets me wear a long-sleeved gray sweater over the dress so my injuries are comfortably hidden. When I stare at my transformation in the mirror, I can't believe my eyes.

"There now," James says. "You look like Corenn again."

I nod, but I can tell his words are carefully chosen. He knows we're only putting on a show. We're trying to convince everyone that I'm the same old Corenn. But I'm not. I only look like her.

James gives me a soft, and thankfully, flat pair of shoes to wear, and then he leaves to fetch Elias.

Dr. Dawson comes in to do one final examination. He nods in approval at everything he sees.

"Just don't do anything too strenuous, and everything will heal up fine," He says.

I smile. "I don't plan on doing anything strenuous ever again."

Dr. Dawson laughs. He gives me a quick hug.

"I hope you never have to," he says.

* * *

Elias and James escort me to the exit doors of the medical building. There's a car sitting not far outside the doors. But between us and the car are a mass of reporters and cameramen.

"Dang paparazzi," Elias says.

James looks disgusted. "How did they find out she was leaving today?"

Elias shrugs and shakes his head. I look between the two of them.

"Wha…What is all this?" I ask.

James squeezes my hand. "Darling, you're the most famous woman in the country. People are dying for a glimpse of you."

My knees feel weak. My heart pounds and my head aches.

"I need to sit down," I say.

Elias and James tow me to a nearby chair, and I collapse into it, breathing heavily.

"I'll go get Doc," Elias says.

"No!" I say. "I'll be fine. This just caught me off guard."

I bury my head in my hands and try not to think about the herd of people outside. I try not to think about _why_ I'm famous, or about the disturbing realization that these Games were successful. This is exactly what Alanton wanted. No one sees the death and the pain. No one is worried about the injustice of killing innocents.

I take a few minutes to put myself back together, locking my distress in the back of my mind to deal with later.

"Let's go," I say.

We rush through the swarm of people, Elias and James shielding me as much as they can. But I still hear their questions. Each one sends bile up my throat.

"What does your husband think of your relationship with Logan Reinhart?"

"What would you tell Charles Midden's mother about her son?"

"Is it true you're considering a reality show to document your life after the Games?"

Elias ushers me into the car and hops in behind me. James slides in the front seat.

"Go, Henry," Elias tells the driver. "Run them over if ya have to."

I gasp for air while the car moves away.

"A reality show?" I say.

"Oh, you know how them media types are," Elias says.

"It's only a rumor," James adds. "No one's going to make you do that."

He doesn't sound so sure.

I try to keep it together while the car traverses the narrow streets. I don't look out the window. I don't care where we're going. All I can think about is how much easier this would be if Logan were here. And then I feel guilty because I'm on my way to be reunited with my husband.

Maybe.

Thinking of Thomas sends a whole new wave of panic through me. Today is not turning out as well as I hoped.

The car halts in front of a tall building. The landscaping looks like it might be beautiful, with trees and flowers strewn everywhere, but most of it is blocked from my view by paparazzi. A group of security guards have formed a narrow path in the sea of people so I can reach the door.

James whispers in my ear as we walk, so I can't hear the endless questions from the crowd. I focus only on his voice until we're inside. Thankfully, the heavy entry doors block out the reporters' shouting. We are in a lobby, decorated like a luxurious hotel. A few people mill about, looking sad and lost. I catch the eye of one woman who stares with such hatred that I gasp and look away. Elias and James hurry me to the elevator.

When the doors slide closed, I lean against the wall. James puts his arm around me and Elias smiles encouragingly. I try to stay calm. The elevator reminds me of the arena's launch capsules, so I have to fight the urge to scream and claw my way out. After a few long seconds, the elevator slows to a halt.

The doors open into a long, decorative hallway. Ornate paintings line the walls, and the sweet smell of fresh flowers washes over me. But I barely register these things.

At the end of the hallway stands the most precious creature I've ever seen.

My baby.

My Kade.

He stands beside my mother and father, both grinning and wiping tears. Marda is there too, wearing a genuine smile. Thomas is missing. I feel a surge of relief at this discovery, and then the familiar pang of guilt. I nearly trip in my haste to get to Kade. He runs toward me, laughing and reaching. For a moment, I forget about the time that passed. I forget the horrors I've experienced since I last held my son. I sweep him into my arms and my world clicks into place. This is what if feels like to be whole.

Kade babbles about what he's done, who he's met, and how he saw me on TV. I hold him and listen. My parents join us, showering me with kisses and tears. Marda stands back after giving my shoulder a soft pat.

Soon, Kade is bored with the reunion. He takes my hand and guides me into a large living room. Three plush couches are arranged in front of a huge television. On TV, Kevin and Richard are talking, but the volume is too low to hear them. They both look older and very, very tired. I wonder if they've had a break since the Games began. A snippet of my face, blood-covered and haggard, flashes across the screen. I cringe.

Kade takes me to a child-sized table and chairs in the corner. He insists I sit with him while he shows me his stack of drawings. I look at sheet after sheet of colorful paper. Many pages show drawings of our house in Mississippi, complete with strangely colored trees and giant sunshine. Some of the pictures, Kade tells me, are of Thomas, my mom and dad, and even a few of Elias. Most of them, though, are of me. Me and Logan.

Kade recounts what we were doing in each of the drawings. Logan and Mommy are looking for food. Logan and Mommy are making the tent. I'm relieved to see that none of them are of Logan and Mommy killing their own teammates, or Logan and Mommy nearly bleeding to death.

When Kade is done with his art presentation, he takes me on a tour of the apartment. Mom and Dad follow, eager to talk to me, but reluctant to interrupt my reunion with Kade. The apartment is luxurious, just like Alanton promised it would be. But everything has an impersonal effect, as if the occupants should never feel at home here. The windows are very small and the glass is thick. The decor is elegant but lacking in warmth, full of abstract paintings and simple green plants. The only home-like touch is in the bouquet of flowers on the kitchen table, but I suspect my mother arranged them herself. There is only one exit— the elevator.

Once Kade has shown me everything (he is especially amazed by the toilet that flushes automatically), Elias suggests we have a snack. He asks Kade to help him make something, and Kade readily agrees. James and Marda excuse themselves, suggesting they help as well.

I am alone with my parents. The emotion in the room is thick, but no one speaks. My mom looks thin and tired, my Dad pale and drawn. This hasn't been easy for them. The silence stretches on, and I wrack my brain for things to say. Abruptly, Mom throws her arms around me and sobs. I wince at the sudden pressure but squeeze her tight. I look over my shoulder at Dad, who grins and pats Mom's back.

"We thought we'd lost you," Mom says, sniffling.

I smile stiffly.

Dad clears his throat. "Um…Thomas said to tell you he…hopes you're feeling better."

I shift uncomfortably. "Uh-huh… so what did he really say?" Dad's never been a very good liar.

"Oh, he really did say that," Mom says. She exchanges a glance with Dad. They know they aren't fooling me.

"He's just feeling a little…confused," Mom continues, "And he didn't want to burden you with it."

I nod, picking at the hem of my dress with my scrawny fingers. I'm glad I don't have to talk to Thomas now. I have no idea what to say. But I would like to have it over with.

Kade returns to tell us our snack is ready. We head to the kitchen to find a box of crackers and a gallon jug of juice on the table.

Elias shrugs. "I let the kid pick it out."

* * *

The rest of the day passes uneventfully. Everyone tries to do and say things carefully so they don't upset me. It's obvious they're on pins and needles, and I find it tiresome to pretend I don't notice. Kade is the only one who treats me like a normal person, and I look for excuses to be alone with him. He doesn't shy away from tough subjects.

"Mommy, can I ever meet Logan?" Kade asks, banging two trucks together.

"Yeah, baby," I say. "As soon as he gets better."

Kade puts his trucks aside and sits in my lap.

"When will he be better?"

I smooth his dark hair. "I don't know, baby. Soon, I hope."

Kade lays his head against my chest. "I think Logan is nice," He says. "Is he nice?"

I kiss Kade's head.

"He's very nice."

* * *

Dr. Dawson visits us before supper, making sure I haven't overdone things today. He tells me Logan is awake now, but too medicated to be aware of his surroundings.

For supper, we're served an extravagant meal. I push mine around my plate, taking small bites when I notice someone looking. My mind isn't on dinner. It's at Logan's bedside. It's wondering what to say to Thomas. It's wishing everyone would quit watching me like a bomb about to go off.

"I'm tired," I say, when everyone else is reaching for dessert. "I think I'll go to bed."

My family falls all over themselves to make me comfortable. Elias tells me that I have access to the Victor's apartment on the top floor of the building. I refuse immediately. It's Logan's apartment too, and I won't go there without him. In no time, I'm changed into a too-big set of pajamas and tucked into the vacant bed in Thomas's room.

When I'm left alone, I lie awake for a long time. I'm still staring at the ceiling when the apartment quiets down. Everyone has gone to bed. I consider moving into the living room to watch TV, but I know there's nothing on. It will be Kevin or Richard, and they will be showing horrific pictures of me. I take a deep breath and close my eyes, trying to relax enough to sleep. A soft knock sounds at my door.

"Mommy?" Asks a timid voice.

I prop up on a pillow. "What's wrong, baby?"

Kade pushes the door open and crawls up the foot of my bed.

"Can I sleep here?" He asks.

"Sure you can," I say, and pull the blankets around us.

Kade nuzzles against me, growing relaxed. "I don't want you to leave again."

I pull him close. "I'm not going anywhere."

In minutes we are both asleep.


	40. Chapter 40: Already Gone

**A/N: You guys are still with me, right? *hugs* I have the best readers. Anyway, Some of this chapter was written with the help of Kelly Clarkson's "Already Gone".**

**Chapter 39: Already Gone**

The next days pass in a fog. I pick at my food, tend Kade, and avoid questions. Dr. Dawson is the only person who mentions Logan and only to tell me that he's getting better. James wakes me every morning, helping me shower and dress. He makes sure my injuries are covered, and that I'm presentable enough to not frighten my family.

On the third day of this routine, our lunch is interrupted by the ding of the elevator. Everyone gathers in the hallway, awaiting the unexpected visitor. My stomach turns flips. What if it's Thomas?

When the metal doors part, I see a thin, blond woman. She looks tired, her posture slouched as if she carries a great burden. Her eyes meet mine.

The recognition is instant.

"You're Logan's mother," I say. It's not a question. Her eyes are a mirror of his.

"Yes," She says, approaching awkwardly. She holds out her hand to me. "I'm Lilah." Her eyes survey my family. "I'm sorry to come by uninvited."

I take her hand and shake it. Mom fusses over another table setting, and within minutes, Lilah has been duped into joining us for lunch. She grows comfortable in no time, and joins in my family's conversation. I can see where Logan gets his charming personality. Through the meal, I stare at her, probably more often than I should. But she reminds me so much of Logan, and I find her presence comforting.

When lunch is over, Lilah says she has to get going. After polite thanks and invitations to come again, she asks me to walk her to the elevator.

"I came to thank you," she says.

"Thank me?"

"For taking care of my son."

"I… I didn't do anything," I stammer. "He was the one taking care of me."

Lilah gives me a soft hug. "If you say so."

The elevator dings and opens. Lilah steps inside.

"Have you seen him?" I ask.

Lilah nods. "He's been asking for you."

The doors slide shut.

* * *

That night, I lie in bed beside Kade. His soft snores are a comfort, but I can't calm my mind enough to sleep. I hear a soft knock.

"Come in," I whisper.

Marda's head peeks around the door. Her hair is a mass of curlers. The light from behind makes her head look comically huge.

"Can I talk to you?" She asks.

I nod. I wrap a bathrobe around my thin frame and follow Marda to the kitchen.

"Would you like some tea?" She asks, pouring hot water in a cup.

"Um…no thanks."

Marda leans on the counter and surveys me.

"How are you feeling?" She asks.

I sit down at the table. "The doctor says everything's healing up just fine," I say. It's the same reply I give a hundred times a day to anyone who asks.

Marda sits down across from me. "Yes, yes, I know," she says. "But how are _you_ feeling?"

I watch Marda's face. She sips from her cup and sets it down, never taking her eyes from me. I'm not going to put her off with generic answers. She won't fall for that.

"I feel lost," I say simply.

Marda sits back in her chair as if she already knew my answer. She smiles softly.

"I was in love once," She says.

My eyes pop wide. That's definitely not where I thought this conversation was going. It's awkward to know things about Marda's personal life. But I must admit— I'm curious.

"Who was he?" I ask.

"He was a missionary," Marda says, "Like me."

If my eyes could get any wider, they would. "_You _were a missionary?"

I don't mean it to be offensive, and Marda doesn't take it that way. She smiles and sets her cup aside.

"A long time ago, yes," she says. "I travelled all over the place. I helped people— gave them hope." She fiddles with a napkin. "I met a man when I was in Africa. His name was Ronald. I was there a month before I even got the nerve to talk to him." She chuckles at the memory. "Luckily, I'd caught his eye too."

I inch forward in my chair, a million questions bubbling to my lips. But I hold them back.

"I was naive then," Marda continues. "I thought the world was a safe place if you were a good person." Her eyes look haunted. "Now I know better."

"What happened?" I ask.

Marda folds her fingers together. "I had a a few months with Ronald before the fighting broke out. They were the best months of my life." She reaches a shaky hand to her cup, but doesn't drink. "I didn't know what started the fighting— I still don't. But the people in our village were afraid, and I didn't know what to do. Food was scarce, and the men couldn't go far to hunt. Ronald took care of me, though. I always had enough."

"Then the village was attacked. Ronald said we should run. So we did. We hid together in the wilderness. Ronald found an axe and taught me to throw it. I learned to protect myself, and I learned to hunt. The enemy found us after three weeks on the run. I killed two men that day. Ronald killed four, but he was injured. We were rescued shortly after that, but Ronald couldn't be saved."

Marda shakes her head, her voice sounding far away. "I was never the same after that. No one understood what I'd been through, and no one knew how to help." Marda meets my eyes. "Ronald would've understood."

I grip the table until my knuckles turn white. I know what Marda's getting at, but I don't want to discuss it.

"I was pregnant when I was rescued from Africa," Marda says. "Little Ronny was the only thing I had to hold on to. He kept me going."

Marda reaches across the table and grabs my bony hand. "I was strong because I had to be," She says. "But I didn't get better." She looks down. "I'll never get better."

I rub my eyes with my free hand. I'm suddenly very, very tired.

"You don't have to do this alone like I did," Marda says. "You did what I couldn't do. You saved your partner."

I pull my hand away from Marda's, resting my elbows on the table, my head buried in my hands.

"I'm sorry, Corenn," Marda says softly. "I…I just wanted to help you." She pushes her chair back and stands.

"No, wait," I say, uncovering my face. Marda's curlers cast crazy shadows over the table. I try to rise from my chair, but I'm a bit off balance.

"It's just…I'm _married_," I say. "How do I tell my husband that he can't help me? That I _need_ someone else? He deserves better than that."

Marda walks around the table to stand beside me. She puts a cautious hand on my back.

"I knew the Corenn who went in the arena," She says. "She loved her family with everything she had."

I nod.

"Every person that went in the Games paid a price," Marda continues. "People think the winner gets to live on with money and glory, but you and I both know that isn't true. There's a price to living, too."

I stare at the curving wood grains on the table, trying to make sense of her words.

"Part of you is never coming out of that arena," Marda says. "And you don't have to be ashamed of what's left. This is who you are now."

Marda puts her hands on both sides of my face, tilting my head until our eyes meet. "Do what you have to do to survive, Corenn. There are some people you just can't live without."

She drops her hold on me, turns, and walks to the elevator. The ding of the call button rings out before I recover enough to say anything. I want to call for Marda to come back. I want to ask her what I should say to Thomas. I want to ask her what to do if Logan doesn't want to see me after he recovers. I want to ask her if she thinks I'm in love with him. But the elevator takes her away before I get up.

_It's just as well. Those aren't questions for her anyway._

The new Corenn will have to figure this out on her own.

* * *

In the morning, James nags me about the dark circles under my eyes.

"You need to get more sleep, darling!" He cries after a second layer of concealer.

"Sorry," I mutter.

I stayed up most of the night dwelling on what Marda said, and I think I've finally got a handle on things.

"I want to see Thomas today," I say.

James freezes, a glob of makeup dripping from his finger. "Are you sure you're ready for that?"

I nod. "It's time."

James doesn't ask questions, but I can tell my silence torments him.

Once I'm presentable, I head to the breakfast table, knowing I will find Elias there. He stands beside Kade, using a spatula to scrape a burnt pancake from a skillet.

"Where's Marda?" Kade asks. "She can teach you how to cook."

Elias frowns. "I swear, it's this newfangled contraption. What happened to a good old gas stove?"

"Gas goes in cars," Kade says.

I lean against the door frame to watch their exchange. It's the most comfortable interaction I've seen since I left the arena. I scrub my feet on the floor when I realize why.

It's because no one's interacting with me.

"Well good mornin, Corenn," Elias says. "Pancake?"

Kade holds up his blackened brick. "You can have mine, Mommy."

I smile. "No thanks. You go ahead and eat it."

"Bleh," he says and pushes the plate away.

"Elias? Could I talk to you…alone?" I ask.

Elias gives me a curious glance. "Yeah, alright. I'll get your Mama to watch the boy."

* * *

"Where's Thomas?" I ask Elias moments later.

Elias bites his lip. "He's got his own place in a different buildin. You want me to call him over here?"

"No," I say. "I want to go to him. Now."

"Right now?" Elias asks. "Why don't ya have some breakfast first? Then we'll all go over—"

"No," I say, interrupting him. "I want to talk to him alone. I want to get it over with."

Elias sighs. He puts his hands on my shoulders. "You've thought about this long and hard, I see."

I nod.

"Well, hon, if your mind's made up…"

"It is."

"Then I'll get my coat."

* * *

Thomas's building is only a block from ours, but Elias insists on accompanying me the whole way. There are no cameras or reporters this time. Elias says it's because President Alanton is supposed to make a big announcement later today. The journalists are all trying to get a glimpse of him instead of me. When we enter Thomas's building, Elias tells me which floor to go to, and sits on a chair in the lobby.

"Good luck, hon," he says. "I'll be here when ya get back."

I press the elevator button and focus on my breathing. I arrive on Thomas's floor in seconds. The doors open to a long hallway. It is identical to the one in my parents' apartment, except for the messy haired man at the end. Thomas stands with his mouth open, wearing a dirty t-shirt and pajama pants. He holds a bowl of cereal precariously in one hand. Milk drips on the floor.

"I wasn't expecting you," He says, his eyes wide. I can't tell if he wants to hug me or hide.

"Yeah," I say, looking at my feet. "Sorry about that."

Thomas sets the bowl of cereal on a plant stand. He walks to me and pulls me into a cautious hug.

I'm immediately struck by how unfamiliar he feels. Embraces like this used to be commonplace, daily occurances in our normal little life. Now he feels foreign to me. There's no intimacy between us. My husband is a stranger.

Thomas pulls back. "How are you?"

"I'm alive," I say.

Thomas nods. "Yes… well, that's more than I could've hoped for."

We lapse into an uncomfortable silence.

"Have you had breakfast?" Thomas asks suddenly.

"Yes," I lie.

"Oh," he says.

He guides me into the apartment and offers me a seat on the couch.

"No thanks," I say. "I can't stay long."

"Ah," Thomas says, propping on the couch's arm, "So this is it, then. The talk."

"Yeah," I say. "I guess it is."

"Okay, let me start," Thomas says, holding up his hands. "I know you went through some bad stuff. And I know you didn't ask for any of it." He takes my hand. "I want you to know I don't blame you for anything that happened, and I…well, I forgive you."

He lets out a long sigh. He's been holding this in a long time. I close my eyes and pull my hand away. His sincerity only makes this harder.

"You shouldn't forgive me," I say. "I'm not your innocent little wife anymore. I don't deserve your forgiveness."

He slumps down onto the couch cushion.

"I figured you'd say something like that," he says. "The thing is, you still look a lot like my wife."

I cross my arms awkwardly. "On the outside, maybe."

Thomas looks up at me. His eyes makes me want to run screaming from the room.

"Do you love him?" he asks.

I can't pretend I don't know who he means.

"I…don't know," I say.

Thomas nods. The silence stretches between us. I take a few cautious steps toward the exit.

"Come home with me, Corenn," Thomas says, startling me. He gets up and takes both my hands. "I know it'll be hard, at first. But maybe someday…you could love me again."

I stare at the floor. I can't take this. I jerk my hands away more forcefully than I meant to. He turns away and puts a hand on his hip.

I know this pose. He's trying not to cry.

"I need to get back," I say, and hurry to the elevator. My finger jabs at the call button.

"Don't go Corenn," says Thomas pitifully. He follows me down the hall, his eyes rimmed in red.

"I'm already gone," I say.

Thomas stops in front of me. His posture slouches like a man defeated. Like a man who has lost his whole world. The elevator doors open, and I give his arm a quick squeeze.

"It'll be better this way," I say. "For you and for me. I couldn't make you happy anymore."

Thomas's tears spill over. "What am I supposed to do now? Just live with all our memories? Pretend you died?"

I cover my face, trying to hold it together. "Do whatever you have to," I say. "Forget me if it helps. I won't hold it against you."

Thomas's face contorts with pain. I walk into the elevator, keeping my eyes down as I search for the right button.

"No, I'll remember you, Corenn," he says. "Always."

When the doors shut, I let myself break.

**_I want you to know_**

**_That it doesn't matter_**

**_Where we take this road_**

**_Someone's gotta go._**

**_And I want you to know_**

**_You couldn't have loved me better_**

**_But I want you to move on,_**

**_So I'm already gone._**

**—Already Gone, Kelly Clarkson**


	41. Chapter 41: Pieces

**Chapter 41: Pieces**

When the elevator opens to the lobby, Elias is by my side in an instant. He leads me to a chair, my choking sobs echoing off the high ceiling. He doesn't ask me what happened. I'm sure he can guess. He kneels in front of me and pats my knees while my tears drip on his hands.

I can't deal with this right now. There are too many holes in my soul, too many pieces. I spend the next few minutes sealing off my emotions. I shove the stomach clenching guilt and the memories of Thomas's face into the back of my mind. Someday I'll be better equipped to deal with it. Someday I can sift through all these pieces and put my life back together.

Elias watches me collect myself. He looks sympathetic, but also…confused. A little concerned even.

"What is it?" I say, when I can speak again.

Elias furrows his brow and shakes his head. "Nothin, hon," he says. "Not a thing you need to worry yourself with."

"Tell me," I say. I wipe the remnants of my tears away.

"Well…it's only…" Elias begins, "You seem to be handlin things pretty well since you came out of that arena. It's almost like…" He pauses, searching my face. "Like you ain't handlin things at all."

I stand up and smooth my shirt. "I'm surviving, just like you taught me," I say.

Elias follows me to the door. "You can't keep all this bottled up, Renn. It'll eat ya alive."

I whirl to face him. "You don't understand," I say. "This isn't something you can fix with a good mope and a cry."

Elias holds up his hands. "Alright, hon," he says. "I'll let it be." He opens the door. "We better hurry. Alanton's announcement'll be on shortly."

* * *

When we get back to my parents' apartment, Marda and James are there, crowded onto the couches with Mom, Dad, and Kade. Elias and I take seats beside them, and as expected, no one asks me any questions. Everyone is glued to the television. Kevin and Richard yap about the upcoming announcement. I try to focus on what they're saying, but the words run together. My mind is a mess of emotion and grief, but I find myself in a fog, not processing anything.

Richard's hand comes up with a flourish and I'm jarred back to the scene on TV. Kevin introduces the President, and the screen switches to Alanton's face. I look away. No matter how far gone I am, I'll never stop hating that man.

"Good morning," he begins. "I am thrilled to announce that our victors' conditions have improved drastically since their last appearance in the arena. After conferences with medical personnel, I believe Mr. Reinhart and Mrs. Alexander will soon be able to resume their duties as the winners of the First Annual Hunger Games. The Closing Ceremony will be held tomorrow evening at 7pm. All businesses will be closed for this national holiday. Tickets will be sold at…"

I stop listening.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow I will see Logan.

I feel a rush of relief tinged with anxiety. What if he doesn't see me the same as he used to? These past few days of reflection may have changed his mind about me.

But I don't have long to worry about it.

The whole room goes into a frenzy. Elias makes several phone calls to arrange my transportation and security for the ceremony. James drags me to a room to measure me for final alterations to my dress. Marda is in charge of publicity. She heads downstairs to wait for the reporters to show up. She promises to tell them how "excited" I am for the ceremony.

The elevator dings and Charles's stylist, Lissa, arrives, showering me with hugs and giggles. She is in charge of dressing my family for the event. I help her measure Kade, and she asks me all sorts of questions. I answer them mechanically, without any thought. As soon as possible, Kade and I escape to a quiet room to play. No one bothers us, and I'm grateful.

A few hours pass, and suddenly everyone needs me to confirm something. My hairstyle, Kade's shoes, Marda's public statement, Elias's tie. Everyone is in good spirits, and I guess I can see why. This is the end for them. Tomorrow is really a celebration. It marks the end of this horrible nightmare, the last hurdle before they go home and restart their lives. They can start forgetting.

Must be nice.

For the rest of the day I go through the motions, pretending everything's fine. Dr. Dawson stops by for one last checkup. He's concerned that I'm not putting on much weight, but otherwise he's pleased with my progress.

The next morning, James wakes me before dawn. A car takes us to the Stylist's Pavillion. The huge building seems haunted now, with no representatives there to fill it up. We enter the familiar room with the green door and my stomach rolls with nausea. Everything looks exactly as it did the last time I was here— the day I went into the arena. The emotions of that day, the terror and the sadness, seem to have lain trapped here while I was away. This room was the last familiar space I saw before I was launched into that hell-hole. The old Corenn was here. And this is her tomb.

Strands of my hair lay trapped in a brush on the table. The pajamas I wore before I changed into the arena outfit are folded neatly in the corner. But the thing that sends me reeling, the thing that makes me run to the bathroom and slam the door— is my ring.

Someone has brought my wedding band here, I suppose to be considerate. They thought I might want it, since I'm not dead after all. But that ring was a symbol. It showed who I used to be, and it makes it glaringly obvious that I can't be her again. I lean against the bathroom door, gasping for air.

"What happened, Sweetie?" James calls from the outer room. "What's wrong?"

"Get rid of it," I say. "Get rid of the ring."

I hear James's shuffling footsteps as he grabs the ring and leaves with it. I peek out of the bathroom and heave a sigh of relief. James returns and acts like nothing happened. I shower and shave my legs, then I stand still for ages while James covers my most hideous wounds with thin bandages. He gives me an airbrush tan, covering the bandages with color, matching them to my skin. When he's done, I look in the mirror. My skin looks nearly flawless. The bandages are disguised and my bruises are covered. Other than my extreme weight loss, I look like I never went in the arena at all.

"Wow," I say.

James grins. "Just wait till you're in the dress…and the shoes."

I groan. James laughs and plops me into a salon chair where I spend the next several hours. James works tirelessly on my hair and face, molding them into the mask I will show the world tonight. Then it's time for me to dress.

James pulls the garment bag from the closet and my heart sinks. I remember this. He unzips the bag and pulls out the gown. It's still breathtakingly beautiful. The white fabric almost glows while the silver beading catches the light. I should be proud to wear something so lovely. But I know how easily this victory dress could've been something else. It could've been my burial dress.

James slips the cold fabric around me and zips it up. He has added a bit of padding to the chest and gathered the material low on my back to hide my ghastly thin body. He slips a pair of low heels on my feet. When I see my reflection, I am unrecognizable. I look perfect. Like an angel.

"Thank you, James," I say, and I mean it.

I practice smiling and walking in the shoes while James gives me tips. I'm pacing the room for what I'm certain is the fiftieth time when Elias knocks on the door.

"Time to head out," he says.

* * *

The car ride is madness. People are scattered everywhere. People walking toward the coliseum, people tailgating outside, people in cars along the road. They swarm beside our car, and I slump down in my seat. The most shocking thing I notice are the smiling faces. Everyone is excited. Laughing children run along the sidewalks carrying toy weapons— mostly bows and maces. Some people carry flags bearing my name or Logan's.

"How can they act this way?" I ask no one in particular.

"They're just excited to see ya," says Elias.

I shake my head. "After so much death and loss…they aren't even bothered by it."

Henry, the driver, clears his throat. My ears perk up. I've never heard him speak before.

"It was all just a game for them," he says.

* * *

The closer we get to the coliseum, the denser the crowd is. If the number of people outside is any indicator, the stadium is already full. I try to keep my thoughts at bay, but the nerves are starting to take over. Big TV screens have been erected on the outer walls of the stadium for those who couldn't get tickets. My face shines on the screens, along with advertisements. I'm just a product now, for Alanton to sell along with his gruesome Games.

I had hoped this ceremony would be a tribute of sorts. We would remember those that were lost. But that doesn't seem to be the case. The screens never show any of the dead representatives. I thought Logan and I would be painted as the most callous of murderers, not as heroes. I thought I'd feel ridiculed and ashamed during the ceremony. I don't know how to deal with this…celebration.

Henry navigates the chaos skillfully. He pulls the car into a guarded alcove nestled in the stadium's outer wall. I still hear the roar of the crowd outside, but in this safe little sanctuary, it is mercifully quiet. James and Elias help me from the car. I shiver, my teeth chattering uncontrollably.

"Renn, how in the world can ya be cold?'" Elias says, wiping sweat from his brow.

His comment takes me back to the night of the Opening Ceremony, when I was freezing and Charles was sweating. James walks me to a rickety folding chair in a corner. I sit carefully while he straightens my gown. Marda is here waiting for me. She wears a lovely green dress and her hair is immaculately arranged. She fidgets excitedly. I look at Elias's face, and James's, and I hear the cheerful banter among the security guards.

I realize how close I am to the breaking point.

While everyone around me is bathing in the aftermath of being associated with a victor, I'm just treading water. I haven't eaten a full meal in days. Most of the world thinks I'm a hero, and the rest thinks I may go psycho at any moment. Some of my friends recently died, and the one I managed to save feels like only a memory. I wonder if he'll even look the same to me. Is there no one left to hold on to? Will even Kade become an aloof observer like the rest of my family?

Suddenly, I feel like I need to deal with this stuff.

RIGHT. NOW.

I gasp for air, my chest heaving against the tight padding of my dress. Elias looks down at me and his eyes go wide.

"Somebody get her some water!" He shouts. Marda rushes away. James hurries to my side.

"What happened?" He asks.

Elias runs his fingers over his balding head. I grab his sleeve.

"This is too much," I say. "I can't do it anymore."

Elias kneels down, careful to push my pristine dress away from his shoes.

"Listen to me, hon," he says. "Any idiot can see you've been put through the wringer." He touches my hand, a warm contrast to my iciness. "This thing tonight, it's all for show. There ain't no need to be nervous."

Marda returns with a cup of water. I take it shakily and try to drink. It just makes me colder.

"Look at me, Renn," Elias says. His tone is so intense that I forget my predicament for a moment.

"You're givin Alanton what he wants. He wants ya to break." He looks up at me, his eyes beginning to show his age.

"You can fight your way through this," He continues. "It's just one more song and dance for the cameras. Don't let him beat ya today, not after you fought through everything else."

I breathe deeply and begin the familiar process of pushing my jumbled pieces back together. I manage. Somehow, I do. But it's only a matter of time. I will fall apart again.

I shift in the uncomfortable chair, listening to the dull noise outside my little alcove. When I'm halfway through my cup of water, a second car pulls in. It's shiny, black, convertible, and judging by the sound of Elias's whistle, expensive. My name is painted on the hood in elegant white script.

"Here we go!" James says, clapping his hands.

Marda, James, and Elias crowd around me, all talking at once. They give me last minute advice on what to expect, but I don't hear any of it. They walk me to the car and help me perch above the backseat. James fluffs my dress out and arranges my loose dark curls. He takes out a makeup brush and whisks it across my face until Elias puts a hand on his shoulder.

"She's perfect," he says.

I plaster on a smile. It feels fake and probably looks it too, but it satisfies them.

"You're gonna be great," Elias says wistfully.

"I've never seen anything so beautiful!" James cries and buries his face in Marda's shoulder. She rolls her eyes.

"Men are such emotional creatures," Marda says. She pulls free of James and inches close to the car. I reach for her hand.

"This isn't going to be easy," she says, squeezing me gently. "But when it's over you'll have Logan back."

I smile genuinely. I never thought Marda would be the one who'd know the right words to say. She pats my hand.

"We have to go," she says, "But we'll be out there, rooting for you."

I nod. Elias and Marda wave good-bye. James blows me a kiss.

And then they're gone.

It's just me and the guards. And Henry, the driver. He sits behind the wheel, silently examining the many knobs and buttons on the dashboard.

"Henry?" I say. He stops tinkering.

"How long before we go out there?" I point to the huge doors in front of us that enter the stadium.

Henry checks his watch. "About thirty minutes."

I frown. "Can you…talk to me till then? I don't care what we talk about."

Henry understands. He smiles and nods. "I've got plenty of stories to tell."

* * *

Henry is an excellent storyteller. I find myself laughing and gasping at the right moments, and truly caring how his predicaments turn out. Thirty minutes pass without a bit of brooding or worrying on my part. But when it's time to go, when those doors open into the blinding lights of the coliseum, it all floods back. My heart races, my hands grip the car, and my breathing is erratic. Henry eases the car forward and my name booms from every side. The crowd cheers, the roar deafening even from the shelter of the alcove. I plaster on my smile, determined to keep it there until this is over.

The car pulls into the light.

Once my eyes adjust, I take in my surroundings. I am riding down the same path that took me through the stadium during the opening ceremony. The big screens hold steadily on my face. The audience jumps to their feet, screaming, waving banners, boosting children onto their shoulders. Cameras flash from every angle. I can barely hear the announcer over the din.

Arranged along the car's route are special seating areas. Each of them bears a state's name, and the groups of people sitting there are not thrilled to see me. When we pass the area marked "Texas" I see four men, all handsome, with nasty snarls on their faces. Beside them sits an older couple. The woman has short, dark hair with gray streaks. She resembles Eleanor so strongly that I'm taken aback. The seating must be for the representative's families. My stomach boils with disgust. I can't believe Alanton is making them sit through this.

Someone from the crowd throws a rose in my car. I pick it up and fling it to Eleanor's mother. She catches it and smiles weakly.

The car creeps around the circle. I catch many more hateful looks from parents whose children weren't as fortunate as me. I see my destination up ahead. Kevin and Richard stand on a stage, clapping wildly. Beside them sits the end of the stadium seating with the special section marked "Mississippi" in the front. My family stands there with Elias, Marda, James, and Lissa, cheering for me. Thomas is there too. He claps politely, but looks terrible. Behind them sits a plump brown haired woman. She is clearly related to Charles. Her light brown hair and innocent expression remind me of his so much that my composure nearly breaks. Beside the Mississippi area is the Kentucky seating. Logan's mother stands, looking lovely in a blue dress. With her sits a solemn man with four small children. They all look like Anya.

I collect an armful of stray flowers that land in the car. I throw one to Logan's mother who blows me a kiss. When the car halts beside the stage, Kevin and Richard hurry to help me out. I manage to exit the car without falling or dropping my flowers. They escort me to the stage and stand on either side of me. Both of them shoot anxious glances my way, but they keep those gleaming smiles on for the crowd.

"Renn has arrived!" Kevin booms.

The audience goes crazy again. Before the chaos dies down, I excuse myself from Kevin and Richard. I cross the stage and walk right into the Mississippi section. I give Kade a kiss and a flower, inching past Thomas with my eyes down. I stop in front of Charles's mother. She looks at me cautiously and puts on a timid half-smile.

I dump the whole bouquet into her arms.

The crowd cheers again, while Kevin and Richard shout "Heartwarming!" and "So generous!" into their microphones. I only have eyes for the woman in front of me. She cries silently, her tears falling on the roses.

"I wanted to bring him home to you," I say.

She reaches for my hand, giving it a tight squeeze.

"I know my Charlie," she says. "He'd be happy you made it."

I press my lips together, holding the emotions back. I head back to Kevin and Richard. They escort me to a wide couch and sit on either side of me.

"Tell us, Renn," Kevin says. "How does it feel to be America's very first victor?"

I wince at the continued use of my nickname. I don't even know how the media got wind of it.

"It feels good to be alive," I say.

Kevin and Richard chuckle.

"I'm sure it does," says Kevin.

"What have you learned from this experience?" Richard asks.

I'm unprepared for this question. I've learned a lot of things, none of them appropriate to discuss on national television.

"I…learned that I cry a lot," I say.

The crowd roars with laughter.

"She's quite the comedian!" says Kevin.

_Yeah. I'm a freaking riot._

* * *

The questions go on like this for some time, with me giving short, on-the-spot answers, and the men pretending I've said something meaningful. At long last, Kevin and Richard thank me for taking the time to talk to them. As if I had a choice. Richard offers me his arm and pulls me to my feet.

"Alright, America," says Kevin, "It's the moment you've been waiting for!"

The audience cheers while I look quizzically at Richard. He smiles.

"Let's introduce our co-victor!"

My breath catches. Kevin keeps talking, but his words are muffled and unintelligible in my jumbled brain. Richard stays steady at my side, and I clutch him for support. I've spent days longing for this moment, telling myself that all will be well once I see Logan.

Now the occasion has arrived, and dread overtakes me. I don't know what to expect. I don't know how Logan will react to me. I don't know what to say, or how to behave. And I don't have time to get it together.

"Here he is, Mr. Logan Reinhart!"

My terror shuts out the sound of the crowd. Richard is kind enough to turn me in the right direction. A curtain rises on the back of the stage. It creeps slowly from the floor, revealing Logan's shiny black shoe on one foot and a dense cast on the other. He carries a pair of crutches, and as the curtain rises higher, I can see his hands gripping them tightly. He wears a black suit with a silver vest and tie. His clothing hangs very precisely, but I can tell how thin he is. The curtain keeps rising.

And I see his face.

He is cleanly shaven, and his blond hair is styled in a carefully placed mess. He squints into the stadium lights, but I can plainly see the pain behind his stare. The past few days haven't been easy for him either. His mouth is curled into a fake smile.

My heart pounds. This isn't right. He doesn't look like himself.

Logan's eyes adjust and he searches the crowd. His gaze lands on Kevin and Richard. And then on me. His face lights up, as if a stirring of life has returned. His smile spreads wider, genuine this time.

Richard lets my arm fall.

And I run.

My heels make me stumble, but I don't care. If I fall, I'll crawl to him. Logan shifts his weight to his good leg and puts both crutches in one hand. He holds the other out to me.

I crash into him, and it's like I never left. His arm pulls me tight, so tight it hurts. I hold him just as tightly. I press my face against his neck, feeling his pulse beat against my cheek. He feels warm and safe. _I _feel warm and safe. I long for the curtain to close so we don't have to keep going through this stupid charade for the cameras.

But Kevin and Richard are already talking again. Logan puts his mouth close to my ear.

"Just a little longer," he says.

We return to the couch, Logan wincing with every step. I strongly suspect that he's not well enough to be out here. I guess Alanton got tired of waiting for him to recover.

When we sit down, Kevin and Richard interview Logan with the same series of questions they asked me. He answers them with humor and charm, complimenting me so often that I get tired of rolling my eyes.

When the questions come to an end, I sigh in relief. It's finally over.

"Now for the next item of the evening!" Richard says. "The recap!"

I freeze.

"For the next three hours," Kevin says, "You will be treated to a special viewing of the highlights from the First Annual Hunger Games!"

_Oh. My. God._

I look frantically at Logan. He is just as upset as I am. But there's nowhere to go. We have to sit here. We have to relive the arena.

Logan laces his fingers with mine.

The lights in the stadium dim, and the big screens go black. Music plays, and a picture appears on the screen. It's me. It's reaping day, and I'm sitting in a chair, holding another girl's hand. Then I'm walking to the stage and it's raining, and I'm trying to be brave.

Then comes Logan's reaping, which I've seen before, but his painful expression makes my stomach hurt.

We watch scenes from the Opening Ceremony, and snippets of the interviews. I see Charles's face, and Eleanor's, and Miller's. Logan puts his arm around me. That's when I realize I'm shaking.

The next scene is my first appearance in the arena. I look like a scared child. The camera cuts between Logan and I as we run to the cornucopia and gather supplies. I wince when the screens show me kill a woman. Then I dodge an attacker, but get distracted by someone else. The first opponent comes barreling after me.

An arrow hits him in the chest.

I gasp and look at Logan. He shrugs.

The screens play my short interaction with Logan at the cornucopia where I throw the backpack that ended up containing our tent.

Then the screen switches to a scene I don't recognize. It's a different cornucopia, and different people battling for supplies. My eyes search each person, trying to find a reason for this to be included in the recap. Then I spot it.

Miller.

I groan aloud. I know what's coming. Logan pats my shoulder.

I spot Charles in the mass of representatives. He fights a woman who holds a spear and easily bests her even without a weapon. He takes the spear when she falls and turns to block an incoming blow.

It's Miller's sword.

The scene plays in slow motion for me. I know how it ends, yet I can't look away. Alanton has included this for my benefit. And I'm going to watch it. I'm going to be brave.

Miller and Charles exchange advances. Just when I think Charles might have the upper hand, Miller abandons his sword and punches Charles in the jaw. The impact knocks him to the ground. He drops the spear and it rolls away. Charles scrambles after it, but Miller is too quick. He grabs Charles's hair and puts the sword to his throat. Charles's eyes are defiant as the sword slices across him. He doesn't fight. He doesn't put his hands up to try and stop the bleeding. He looks death in the eye, and he isn't afraid.

I put my hand to my mouth, biting my tongue to contain myself. If I lose it now, I'll never get my composure back.

The screens recap the torture of the next few days, and the formation of my alliance with Logan. I stare at my lap while the screens show me collecting my things to leave on our first night together. Logan pulls me closer.

The recap plays scenes from my nightmares over and over again.

Waking up to the two men under the tree.

The gruesome death of the girl from North Carolina.

The close call at the food drop.

The even closer call when Miller found us in the woods.

There are brief scenes where other representatives do interesting things, but the main focus is on Logan and me. That is, until it switches to Eleanor.

The cameras follow her as she sneaks silently through the trees. She approaches two men as they wrestle on the ground, trying to reach a fallen knife. One man is much larger than the other, and he's clearly enjoying the beating he gives. Eleanor bursts out of the trees, knife bared, and stabs the bigger man. He falls, and Eleanor bends to tend the other guy. Many similar incidents follow. She saves several people and cares for them with plants and makeshift bandages. Many of them die, but some of them get better.

She finds a cave beside a bubbling stream and keeps her patients there. The cameras show her at the cornucopia, where Logan aids her, and she returns with a bottle of antibiotics. It seems that her last two patients might completely recover.

Until Miller finds them.

The rushing water of the stream masks his footsteps, so Eleanor is caught off-guard. Miller and his partners from Wyoming and Colorado charge into the cave. The injured men are taken out with ease, but Eleanor fights valiantly. She engages the man from Colorado while Miller and the other man raid her supplies. Eleanor dodges and slices, forming bloody gashes on the Colorado man's body. She stabs and cuts him so much that I'm not sure how he stays upright. Miller realizes his teammate's predicament and comes to his aid. He grabs Eleanor and laughs at her attempts to squirm free. The Colorado man punches her, but she keeps her eyes on him, hate and fury plain on her face.

The man from Colorado kills her with her own knife. Even when her body lays still, a determined expression is etched on her face.

The screens show Miller's clumsy efforts to use Eleanor's medical supplies to help his teammate. He's smart enough to tell the man to take the antibiotics, which probably saves his life. Miller and his alliance dump the bodies in the stream outside and take the cave for themselves, leaving the Colorado man when they go out to hunt.

The cameras find Logan and I again. The latter part of the Games is a mass of confusion as we grow closer together, only to be ripped apart. The endless challenges, the kissing, the good-byes— it's all broadcast on the screens, making me want to run off stage. The finale is the worst part. I watch my fight with Miller, and Logan's brutal confrontation with the Colorado man. The blow that crushes Logan's leg makes me want to vomit. I fight the urge to plug my ears while Logan's screams echo through the stadium speakers. To my horror, the cameras follow me all the way to Logan's bedside, where Dr. Dawson sedated me.

The screens abruptly change to lighthearted interviews with my family and prep team. The contrast between the scenes throws me, but the audience laughs while James discusses my hair in the arena. Elias calls me "Renn" during his interviews. I guess I know how my nickname caught on. The worst interviews are the ones with Thomas. He defends my actions with Logan, while appearing obviously hurt. Logan's mom, coach, and stylist are interviewed as well.

Finally, _finally,_ the screens go black and the lights come back on. The crowd cheers. Logan pretends to like it, waving and smiling while I sit and breathe heavily.

Richard stands. "For our final event of the evening, I must introduce a very special guest!"

The audience claps, Logan feigns curiosity, and I try to arrange my face so it looks like I'm paying attention. I don't care what this final event is. I'm spent. Mentally, physically, emotionally spent. Kevin stands up and motions that Logan and I should do the same. So we do. Logan makes it look like I'm helping him, but he's the one pulling me from the couch. Kevin and Richard guide us to an ornately decorated table. On it sits a large golden box. Kevin talks some more, but I keep my eyes on the box, wondering what terrible thing lies underneath.

"And now," Kevin says, "I am proud to introduce…President Verilius Alanton!"

The crowd goes wild. My stomach does flips. The curtain rises again, and there stands the person I hate most in the world. His perfectly groomed hair, his expensive suit, and his cold eyes disgust me. He doesn't even have the decency to squint into the bright lights like the rest of us. He strolls comfortably across the stage, waving to the audience as he goes. Anger flares so deep inside me that I'm afraid I might burst into flames. I channel the experiences of the past few weeks— the fear, the hunger, the pain— into this one moment.

Into hatred for this man.

I have no doubt that my feelings are apparent in my expression. I don't try to hide them. But no one's looking at me. The screens broadcast Alanton's grinning face. Everyone applauds him. Some do it enthusiastically, some politely, and some begrudgingly. Even my parents force their hands to clap, and Charles's mother. Only Logan and I stand motionless. As small as it is, our stillness is an act of defiance, and I'm proud of it.

The President halts beside us. He reaches for Logan's hand, and Logan obliges. He doesn't return Alanton's smile, and he doesn't mutter pleasantries. Alanton moves to me. He rests his hands on my shoulders, squeezing just hard enough to make the disguised gash on my shoulder throb. He grins. I glare at him, refusing to wince or shift away. Richard and Kevin look nervous, as if this is not at all how they expected this introduction to go. Alanton leans forward and plants a kiss on my cheek. It's all I can do not to slap him.

Alanton backs away, his strong cologne making me want to gag. He addresses the crowd and gives a short speech. I don't listen to a word. As he talks, I become increasingly aware that Logan is in a great deal of pain. He shifts often, and grips his crutches until his knuckles turn white. He's sweating more than Richard, who dabs his face with a handkerchief every few minutes.

When he's done speaking, Alanton removes the golden box from the table. It was hiding two fluffy pillows which held two silver crowns. One is sleek and slender, the other rigid and sturdy. Even in my emotional state I can appreciate their beauty. Alanton places the smaller crown on my head.

"Congratulations," he says cheerfully, though his eyes are harsh. He goes through the same motions with Logan's crown, then backs away from us and smiles. The look on his face sends an icy fear from my head to my toes. His smile tells me everything I need to know.

This isn't over.

Alanton leaves the stage to a chorus of cheers. Richard and Kevin, relieved for the tension to subside, move quickly to their closing speeches. Logan and I are dismissed in short order. We wave good-bye and smile at the crowd, Logan doing a much better job of it. We walk to the back of the stage, and the curtain closes behind us. I turn to face Logan, my eyes searching his in the darkness. I see so many emotions there— pain, concern, affection.

In seconds we are swarmed by black-clad workers and guards. Someone grabs the crowns from our heads and puts them in an intricate lock box. Men and women with clipboards and headsets shout compliments and well wishes as they usher us through a long corridor. Large brooding men with earpieces walk silently along with us. The going is slow due to Logan's handicap, but no one rushes us. One woman asks me to autograph a picture for her daughter.

"She admires you so much," she says.

I awkwardly scrawl my name. A stuttering man tells Logan how he's taken archery lessons his whole life, but he learned more from watching Logan in the Games than he did with his instructor. Logan tries to hurry his steps to get away from the well-meaning workers. His pain is obvious to me, but not to the group around us. They continue to ask us for autographs and pictures. Eventually, we ignore them, focusing only on our progress.

By the time we get to the exit doors, I'm shaking. The stress of the evening and the onslaught of these— _fans_— has taken its toll. The security men help Logan into the passenger seat of a car, allowing him room for his injured leg. I am ushered into the back. When the doors shut, there is finally silence. The driver is a stranger. He doesn't engage us in conversation, so the quiet stretches through the trip back to the apartments. I don't want to talk to Logan while we have to be formal and careful. I don't want to make pleasantries or ask him how he is. I know how he is.

He is broken.

Like me.


	42. Chapter 42: Stripped

**A/N: Okay guys, beware, there's some cheesy stuff in this chapter (as if there hasn't been before. HA!). Sorry it took so long for me to update, time just got away from me.**

**Chapter 42: Stripped**

Our walk from the car to the apartment building is endless. We inch along, dodging people and reporters. Logan needs room to maneuver his crutches and everyone is reluctant to give it to him. If there weren't so many security guards I doubt we'd ever get inside.

But we do. The lobby is silent. Everyone is still on their way back from the ceremony. Logan hobbles to the elevator and I follow in a haze. A security guard enters the elevator with us.

"The victor's apartment?" The man asks gruffly.

Logan and I exchange a glance.

"Yeah I guess," Logan says.

I don't care where we go now. I'm too far gone to care. While the elevator creeps upward, I feel my composure slipping. I've done it. I made it through the reaping, the training, the interviews, the ceremonies, and the arena. I'm done being brave. I can't do it another second. My hands shake, my knees threaten to give way, and my breath comes out in raspy gasps.

The security guard raises his eyebrows at me. Logan shifts on his crutches.

"She'll be alright," he says. He doesn't look convinced. Neither does the guard.

The elevator is slow, and I'm certain all the oxygen is being sucked out. My lungs heave against the suffocating panic. The pieces are falling apart.

The Charles piece.

The Eleanor piece.

The Thomas piece.

_So many pieces_.

I look down at the guard's large hand on my arm. His grip holds me upright. He's speaking, but I can't understand. Something loud is drowning out his voice. I suck in a loud breath. The noise stops and begins again.

_It's me, _I realize. My guttural sobs spill out, and I can't control them. I can't control anything.

The elevator doors open slowly, and the guard hefts me into his arms like a child. I don't bother fighting. I let my tears fall on his expensive blazer.

"Bring her to me," Logan says.

The guard lowers me slowly onto a couch. Logan is there, beside me. He shifts my frail body until I lay across his lap, his arms wrapped around me. I burrow into his neck.

And the pieces fall apart.

I cry. I kick. I scream.

Logan sends the guard away, and we are alone.

He doesn't tell me things will be okay. He knows better. He doesn't try to quiet me. He doesn't mutter soothing words.

He cries too.

His tears mingle with mine, and we huddle closer. My hands wrap around his neck, and his arms tighten around my waist and shoulders. It reminds me of our kisses in the arena, when we intertwined this way. But this is different. This is more intimate than kissing.

Our grip on each other is the only thing keeping us from going under, from succumbing to the misery of what we've become. He is my anchor, my rock. And I am his.

We stay this way for some time, long enough for my dress to become a wrinkled knot of fabric wrapped around my knees. My hair is a tangled mess from my writhing and Logan's fingers. His collar is stained with the bulk of makeup James used to hide my face.

We are still curled around each other when the elevator dings. From the hallway comes the sound of jubilant laughter. I hear Elias's jovial voice, and the clink of glasses. Soon, our prep teams and families surround us. They carry balloons and flowers, champagne bottles and glasses, their faces alight with triumph. When they see our state, a slow quiet falls. Then chaos.

"What happened?" Logan's mother asks.

Elias bends over me. "Somebody call the Doc!"

Mom wants to get me a glass of water. James tries to smooth my dress. Marda flicks several lights on. I stay buried in Logan's shoulder

"Stop" Logan says weakly. He is ignored.

"STOP!" He says again. Everyone freezes. He clears his throat. "Could we…just have some food?"

"Yeah, yeah," Elias says. "I'll get ya whatever ya want."

Logan shrugs. "Pizza. She likes pizza."

In no time, a steaming pizza is plopped on the table in front of us. The party has resumed in the kitchen, now that we've assured our families we're alright. We are alone again, and I'm glad of it. I gobble down two slices in no time. Logan eats at the same pace. He must've been living off of those horrible protein shakes while he was in the hospital. When the food settles my stomach, I feel better.

I eat a third slice and rub my full belly, relaxing on the couch while Logan finishes. James sticks his head in the room.

"Do you want to get ready for bed?" He asks. "I'll help you whenever you're ready."

"No," I say. "I can do it myself." I untangle my dress and stand. Logan grabs his crutches, preparing to do the same.

"Okay…" James says. "I'll get Tara."

Logan holds up his hand. "I don't need her," he says. "Thanks, though."

It takes a full minute for Logan to rise from the couch. His stylist, Tara, comes to help, but he insists that she rejoin the party.

"Corenn will help me," he says. Tara leaves with crossed arms and pursed lips.

I explore the apartment. The decorations here are much more lavish than my parents' apartment, but the thick windows and dim lighting still suggest confinement. I quickly discover there is only one bedroom. A twin bed has been hastily pushed in the corner, reminding me that the gamemakers never intended for two of us to be here. The master bathroom is enormous. A large shower stall stands beside a luxurious tub. There are mirrors everywhere. The dominant color is gold. Even the floor tiles have shiny gold flecks in them.

"Wow," Logan says, approaching from behind. "If my leg didn't feel like it was being sawed off, I might be impressed."

I spin to meet his eyes. Pain is evident there, but he forces a half smile for my benefit.

"Didn't Dr. Dawson give you something for that?" I ask.

Logan laughs dryly. "I don't think a morphine drip would look good with my outfit."

I cross my arms. "I'm sure there's a pill or something—"

"No," Logan leans ones crutch against the door frame and uses his free hand to grab mine. "I'm tired of doctors. I'm tired of stylists and coaches and interviews. I just want to be left alone for one night."

I blink and look at my shoes. "Oh…okay." I try to pull my hand away, but Logan holds on.

"I mean alone with you," he says.

I relax. Logan draws me closer and puts his arm around me. I look in one of the mirrors. My mascara is running. My bruises shine through James's careful concealer, and my eyes are red and puffy.

"I look more normal than I have in days," I say.

Logan smiles, a real one this time.

"Help me out of this, would you?" He tries to shake off his suit jacket.

I assist him, and he leans against the counter to remove his tie. He unbuttons his shirt and lets it fall to the floor. His chest is littered with ugly bruises, and his ribs show clearly under his skin. A few bandages sit on his arms and stomach, probably covering wounds similar to mine. He bends over the sink and splashes water on his face. The more he splashes and rubs, the more discoloration I see. When he's done, he looks at the mirror.

"Now I look normal too," he says.

We stare at our reflections, the harsh lighting making us look even more sallow and pale.

Logan abruptly turns away. "I need a bath."

I nod, picking at one of the hidden bandages on my arm. "I'll need one too if I want to get these things off."

Logan uses the wall for balance as he moves toward the tub. He bends down to turn on the water.

"Go ahead and take a shower," he says. "I won't look."

I stand, reluctant, as the tub fills with water. A shower does sound inviting, especially one without James poking his head in every ten seconds. When Logan's bath is filled, he tries to shimmy out of his pants, wincing at the awkward movement.

"Here, I'll do it," I say. I help him one leg at a time. His exposed legs are a mass of bandages. I don't even want to know how it must look underneath his cast.

"Thanks," he says, "I think I can do the rest."

I blush and turn away. "Yeah, you do that."

I hear Logan groan and wince as he finishes undressing and maneuvers his body into the tub.

"Okay," he says, "My eyes are closed."

I fumble with my dress's zipper until it's down far enough for me to shimmy out. I hastily remove my underthings and step in the shower stall, turning the golden knobs until warm water sprays on my shoulders. There are countless bathing products arrayed on the shelves beside me, so I pick one at random and rub it in my hair.

Once I've cleaned my hair and body, I proceed through the tedious task of removing the bandages. Each one makes me cringe and ball my fists in agony. When that's done I take the time to bask in the hot water. For once, nothing is required of me. No one is waiting. No one is watching. I don't have to hurry.

And I don't.

I let the water course over me, leaning against the tiled wall and closing my eyes.

Then a crash booms from outside.

"Logan?" I say. Immediately I burst from the shower. My relaxation evaporates. Logan stands, facing the wall beside the tub, with both hands and his forehead resting against it. His crutch lays where it crashed to the floor, and a towel hangs just out of his reach. His eyes are closed as he grips the wall, naked and dripping.

I rush to the towel and his fallen crutch. Even when I pick them up, Logan doesn't respond. I lean the crutch on the wall beside him and hold the towel out, my own nudity forgotten.

He turns slowly and takes the towel. I see the wounds where his bandages were moments ago. Some of them are stitched neatly, but some are gruesome wounds that will leave terrible scars. His body will never be beautiful and flawless like it used to be. I watch his eyes roaming over my stitched slashes from Miller's sword.

Logan leans back, propping against the wall, his towel clutched in his hand. "Did they really think a needle and thread would put us back together?"

I look at the floor, a puddle gathering around my toes.

"I don't think they've realized we're broken yet," I say.

Logan grabs his crutch and faces me. He is wet and shivering, but the pain in his eyes has my full attention. We stand face-to-face, inches apart, saying nothing. Slowly, Logan drops the towel and reaches out his hand. I take it.

Our eyes say more than words ever could. He doesn't need to ask me about Thomas. I don't have to ask him what our kisses meant to him in the arena. We don't have to say how difficult it is to live through every second. We know.

We know.

A few moments pass before Logan releases my hand. And when he does, I don't feel as lost as before. One of my pieces has come back together.

The Logan piece.

I have my partner again.

* * *

The drawers in the bedroom contain an array of clothing for both of us. All of it is much too big. Whoever stocked this room must have used the sizes we wore before the arena. I decide on a tank top and a pair of sweatpants with a drawstring. Logan puts on a similar pair of pants but remains shirtless.

The party continues outside the bedroom door. I hear Marda's shrill laughter and I wonder how many drinks she's had. Kade must have stayed with Thomas for the night so my parents could celebrate. I hear Dad conversing loudly with someone whose voice I don't recognize.

"We better go tell them good night," Logan says. "They'll worry if we don't."

I open the bedroom door. Lilah spots us first.

"There they are!" She says, "We were wondering if you…"

She trails off. The rest of the party dies down as each person notices us. I realize this is the first time our families have seen us— _really_ seen us— since we left the arena. They can see our scabs and stitches, Logan's ribs and my protruding shoulders. No one has disguised us, no one has put on our masks.

Lilah puts her hand over her mouth. I spot my mom across the room. Her mouth gapes as she takes me in. Elias puts a comforting hand on Dad's shoulder.

Logan clears his throat. "Well…good night."

He turns back to the bedroom and I quickly follow. When we shut the door behind us, the party doesn't resume. The silence stretches on and on.

Logan looks between the two beds that clutter the room.

"You take the big one," I say. "It'll be easier with your leg."

Logan sits down on the larger bed. I move to the smaller one and lay down under the sheets. Logan clicks off the lights. I stare at the dark ceiling, waiting for my eyes to adjust. The bed isn't comfortable, and I miss having Kade beside me. I roll to my left side, and then my right, trying to find a position I can sleep in.

"Corenn?" Logan asks. His voice is so soft, I barely hear him, even in the quiet.

"Yeah?"

"Do you want to sleep over here?"

"Very much."

"Well, come on," he says. I bolt out of the tiny bed and into the bigger one. Logan laughs.

"Better?" He asks.

"Way better," I say, nestling into the fluffy pillow.

"Good." He slides to the edge of the bed.

"Where are you going?" I ask.

"To the other bed," Logan says.

I bite my lip. "Wait."

He pauses. I roll to face him.

"Stay," I say.

Logan settles down beside me. I feel his warmth and hear his breath. I never thought we'd get a chance to lay like this again. Now there are no cameras, no challenges at dawn. There's no need to impress the sponsors, no growling stomachs. It is only us and the darkness.

Before I fall asleep, I reach for Logan's hand. He laces his fingers with mine, and I finally rest. We aren't free of Alanton yet, and we haven't even begun recovering from the mental strains of the arena. But for the first time, I feel like we might get through it.

If we hold onto each other, we'll survive.

**A/N: I know you aren't supposed to get a cast wet, and let's assume, since Corenn isn't watching, that Logan somehow managed to keep it dry. (Yes, I would probably get messages about this if I didn't say something. LOL)**


	43. Chapter 43: Warning

I stare out the window while Logan snoozes on the bed. Our apartment building towers above the rest of the community, giving me the feeling of being at the top of the world. The early morning is hazy and overcast, but I see tiny people moving on the streets below. Some are still celebrating from the Closing Ceremony last night, and some are workers, cleaning up the mess left by yesterday's crowd. Logan's even breaths keep me grounded to the moment, keep me from thinking about the jumble in my head. I can be calm and peaceful for this brief time, and I dread the moment when it will pass.

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

Well, that was sooner than I thought.

The incessant knocking continues, making Logan bolt upright.

"I've got it," I say.

It's James, looking frazzled and panicked. My eyes go wide.

"What is it?" I ask.

James throws himself into my arms. "Oh, Darling, it's the most awful thing!"

My heart sinks.

"They've scheduled a photo-shoot for this morning, and— and—" He breaks into loud sobs. "_You have nothing to wear!"_

I sag against the door frame, my relief making my legs turn to jelly. Leave it to James to make a big deal out of clothes.

I pat his back. "It's okay, I can just wear something I've worn already."

James steps away from me, wiping tears. "Something you've…_worn already_?" He looks as if I've suggested he jump out the window.

"Put her in something white," Logan says. He has managed to crawl out of bed, and he stands behind me on one crutch. "She looks good in white."

James focuses on something in the distance, the wheels turning in his head. He stays this way for a long moment, then snaps to attention.

"White…" He says. "I know just the thing."

He scurries off without a good-bye.

I turn around and give Logan a thumbs up. He shrugs.

"You look good in every color," He says. "I just wanted to give him some ideas."

* * *

The photo-shoot is ridiculous. It was obviously scheduled on short notice because no one is prepared. No one knows where Logan and I should stand, or what poses we should strike. The photographer yells for no apparent reason. I huddle in a corner with Logan while things are sorted out. James has dressed me in the white shirt I wore for my interview, and a simple pair of black dress pants. My shoes are black, pointy, and uncomfortable. Logan is dressed similarly, in black dress pants and a white button-down shirt.

I lean on the wall with my eyes closed, listening to the shouting matches around me. Logan taps his fingers on his crutches in a steady rhythm, calming my nerves. Slowly, the voices in the room die down. Logan's tapping seems loud amid the spreading silence. I open my eyes.

A short, plump man stands by the doors. His bushy white hair and equally bushy mustache make him instantly recognizable. It's the head game-maker himself, Thaddeus Pumpernickel.

Everyone stands, transfixed, as Thaddeus strides to the photographer and shakes his hand. They exchange a few words, and the photographer steps away, barking orders. The room flies into action. Thaddeus moves slowly to Logan and I. In my heels, his shortness is magnified. He only reaches my chest. He wears a simple suit with a bright yellow bow-tie.

"It is an honor to finally meet you, Mrs. Alexander— Mr. Reinhart," Thaddeus says. His chirpy voice reminds me of the daily death announcements in the arena. I frown.

"Unfortunately I can't say the same," Logan says. It's clear he holds Thaddeus accountable for much of our suffering.

Thaddeus has the decency to look ashamed. "Yes, well," he says, clearing his throat. "I know I can't justify my actions, or my involvement in the President's Games." He pauses, waiting hopefully for us to contradict him. We don't.

"I…I hope you both know that I never would have agreed to help Verilius had I known what he planned to do," Thaddeus runs his fingers over his mustache. He looks directly at me, his eyes alight with intensity. "But some of us are in too deep to escape him now."

He raises his eyebrows and squints a bit, as if to question whether I've understood him. I don't know what he's hinting at, but I go along with a quick nod of my head. Thaddeus offers his hand to me.

"It has been a pleasure, Mrs. Alexander."

I take his hand, still baffled by his words. I feel a crumpled wad of paper between Thaddeus's hand and mine. His eyes widen, and he shakes his head slightly. When he pulls his hand away, the paper is left in my palm. I quickly shove it in my pocket. Thaddeus looks at Logan.

"I know it's too much to ask for your forgiveness…" He says.

Logan raises an eyebrow.

Thaddeus nods. "Perhaps another day then."

He returns to the photographer, and the photo-shoot is suddenly in motion. Thaddeus is a master of organization and problem solving. Within minutes, a collection of potted plants have been retrieved from various locations, and two elegant, high-backed chairs are brought in. Lovely paintings are hung behind the chairs and Logan and I are plopped in the seats. Thaddeus whispers in the photographer's ear throughout the shoot, and I must admit, his ideas are spot-on. We stand, we sit, we smile, we frown. We pose as if we are lovers, then we pose as if we are mourners. Thaddeus finds a single white rose and hands it to me. He positions Logan and I face-to-face. I lean against Logan's chest, holding the rose up to my chin. Logan props his head on mine, and looks straight ahead. I look at the camera, unsmiling. When Thaddeus sees the photo, he is satisfied.

"That's the one," he says. "Wonderful job, everyone."

And with that, he's gone.

The photographers and assistants mill around, unsure what to do without Thaddeus's guidance. Logan and I are allowed to leave, and a car waits for us outside. Logan gets in the front seat, and I hop in the back. As soon as the doors close, I pull Thaddeus's paper from my pocket, smoothing the small square over my thigh. When I read it, my blood runs cold. I crumple the paper in my fist, watching my frail knuckles turn white. I don't know what the message means, but the words are chilling enough to tell me I should be afraid.

**_He will be waiting._**

**_Don't argue._**

**_He means what he says_****.**

* * *

When the car pulls up to our apartment building, I'm a wreck. Logan fumbles his way out of the car while I try to help, but my sweaty palms can't get a good grip. Reporters still surround the area, but an excess of guards has them pushed far back from our walking path. Logan moves quickly on his crutches without the hindrance of a crowd. We walk into the building and head to the elevator. Five large men stand outside the doors, looking us up and down suspiciously. One of them presses the call button. I exchange a glance with Logan. He looks baffled, but I'm starting to figure things out.

When the elevator opens, the guards part so we can enter. Once inside, one of the guards reaches in and presses the button that will take us to the victor's apartment. Logan opens his mouth to question the guards, but I poke him with my elbow, shutting him up. When the doors close he turns to me.

"What's going on?" He asks.

I shrug. "I'm not sure, but if I had to guess, I'd say the President is in our apartment."

Logan nearly drops his crutches. "_What?_"

I show him the note from Thaddeus. He reads it in a split second, then runs his hand over his face.

"What do you think he wants?" Logan asks.

"Nothing good, I'm sure."

We wait in fearful silence as the elevator takes us higher. I ball up Thaddeus's note and push it back in my pocket, wiping my damp hands on my pants. The familiar _Ding!_ That signals our arrival makes Logan and I jump. The doors open, and we're greeting my two armed guards.

"President Alanton will see you in the dining room," one of them says.

My stomach knots up. I had hoped my assumptions were wrong. Logan and I step out of the elevator. The two men follow us at a polite distance, but it's clear there's no turning back.

When we enter the dining room, the scene is surreal. Verilius Alanton sits at the head of our small table, an extravagant lunch arrayed before him. There is so much food I can barely spot the place settings on either side of Alanton, indicating where he intends for us to sit. Alanton lounges comfortably, holding a glass of wine and looking too formal in his fancy suit.

His piercing eyes land on us.

"Oh, lovely," he says, rising from his seat. "I wondered if you'd ever arrive."

Logan and I stand frozen in the doorway, unsure what's expected of us.

"Come in, come in," Alanton continues, "This is _your_ apartment after all."

The guards push us from behind, forcing us further into the room. With a glance at Logan, I head to the far side of the table and take a seat. Logan slowly follows suit, sitting across from me.

"Wonderful," Alanton says, sitting back down and folding a napkin in his lap. "Wine?" He asks, offering the bottle to me. I shake my head slightly, and he turns to Logan, who does the same.

"Well, let's dig in, then," Alanton says and reaches for the nearest serving dish.

At the President's insistence, I spoon a few things on my plate. Alanton asks me to pass him dishes and asks me how I like the battered chicken. He is calm and cheerful while Logan and I push food around with our forks. Alanton shows no sign that he notices our discomfort, and he is apparently in no rush to get to the point of this meeting.

At long last, he empties his plate. He dabs a napkin along his lips and stands.

"Shall we head to someplace more comfortable?" He asks.

We move to the large couches where Logan and I cried together just last night. The memory of our brokenness sends a surge of hatred through me. The object of our torment stands in this very room, and there's nothing we can do. No way to take our revenge.

"I suppose you're wondering why I've come," Alanton says.

We don't respond. Alanton narrows his eyes.

"Perhaps I should've foregone the pleasantries," he says. "I thought the two of you might behave as civil adults, but I was mistaken."

Alanton pulls a chair to face the couch, only the small coffee table separating us. He sits down, his smug stare turned icily indifferent. I feel a bit more comfortable with him without the pretense of friendliness. The devil shouldn't wear a disguise.

"I mainly wish to speak with you, Mrs. Alexander," Alanton fixes his eyes on my face. "Oh, I beg your pardon, due to recent events, you may wish to be called by your maiden name."

I inhale with a sharp hiss.

Alanton smiles. "Forgive me, I have a difficult time keeping up with your marital status." He turns to Logan. "Feel free to go or stay, Mr. Reinhart, but I have nothing to say to you."

Logan scoots closer to me. "I'm not leaving her with you." His words are clipped and harsh, his anger showing plainly.

"Very well," Alanton says. He angles his chair toward me, making it clear that his words are no longer intended for Logan. "Firstly, Mrs. Alexander, I would like to tell you how very impressive I found your performance in the arena."

He waits for a response, but all I give him is a sullen glare.

"I'm sure you've heard me speak about the Games and my intention to use them as a way for the American people to unite in support of common goals," he says.

I raise my eyebrows. Of course I've heard him speak about it. Alanton's speeches are always required viewing.

"I have not previously spoken, however, about _all_ of my intentions for the Games," Alanton continues. He folds his hands on his lap and looks squarely in my eyes.

"I have a proposition for you."


	44. Chapter 44: Ultimatum

**A/N: OMG sorry this took so long! There is only an epilogue to follow, so this is essentially the final chapter. I'll try to post the epilogue in a few days. Thank you so much for sticking around!**

I stare at Alanton's rigid features. I guess he's going to glare at me until I say something.

"What sort of proposition?" I ask.

Alanton's lips slide into a malicious smile. "I would like for you to do some work for me."

I narrow my eyes. "What could I possibly do for you?"

Alanton crosses his legs, lacing his fingers on one knee. "Well, Mrs. Alexander, you have a rather unique skill set."

Logan inhales sharply beside me. I cut my eyes in his direction, then settle them back on Alanton. Obviously I'm missing something.

"How about we cut to the chase," I say. "What exactly do you want?"

Alanton smiles. "I need a bodyguard…of sorts."

My eyes widen. Alanton holds up his hands.

"Hear me out," he says. "I think you'll find my offer…_agreeable_."

I swallow nervously. I feel certain I won't find anything he says agreeable.

"As you must know," Alanton says, "I am a man of great power, and great power breeds great enemies. It is no secret that I have many enemies." He uncrosses his legs and fixes his cold stare on me. "I think you can help me with that. I will publicly declare you as my personal bodyguard, and hopefully, my dear, your reputation will precede you."

I feel a headache coming on. "Do you really think your enemies will leave you alone if you say one girl is protecting you?"

Alanton laughs, a chilling, humorless sound. "Of course not! Though, I must say I hope your position will quell any future uprisings." He leans forward in his chair, making me slouch farther back on the couch. "I'm hoping you will oblige me by…eradicating my opponents."

Oh.

_Oh._

"You want to use me as an assassin," I say.

Alanton inclines his head. "I wouldn't use such an aggressive term. But essentially, yes."

Logan grips the couch beside me. "Why Corenn? I'll do it. Leave her out of your political garbage."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Reinhart," Alanton says. "Mrs. Alexander is my choice for this position. Her reputation will do more for my cause than yours."

"My reputation?" I ask.

"Yes," Alanton says. "Your killing style is truly fascinating. Don't take offense, Mr. Reinhart, I won't deny your skills, but you opt for clean, quick kills. Your lovely partner is brutal. Her death blows tend to be crushing and…messy."

I squint my eyes shut. I don't want to hear this.

"The American people admire you, Mr. Reinhart, but you, Mrs. Alexander… you are feared."

I sigh and lay my head in my hands. "Why would I kill people for you?" I ask.

Alanton rubs his hands together. "Ah, yes, my proposition. In exchange for your services, I will do a few special favors on your behalf."

I rub my eyes, still not looking up. "Like what?"

"I can guarantee the safety of your family. They will never be harmed by anyone in my service as long as you remain in my employ. I will also guarantee that your child and future children will never be reaped for the Hunger Games."

I gasp, peering between my fingers at Alanton's face. He knows he has me. His smile says it all.

"Wh-what if I refuse?" I ask shakily, already knowing I won't turn him down. Kade will never have to go through what I've been through. There's no price I wouldn't pay for that.

"Well, now," Alanton says, crossing his arms. "If you refuse…then I _won't_ guarantee your family's safety. As a matter of fact, I will guarantee the opposite."

Alanton's arrogant expression dares me to argue. I let my hands fall to my lap, and I sit up straight. Anger swells through me, starting deep in my belly and radiating until the tips of my fingers twitch.

He's threatening my family.

He's threatening Kade.

I glance at Logan beside me. The expensive couch cushion begs for mercy in his tight grip. His mouth sits in an angry line, but he doesn't say a word. He knows, just like I know, just like Thaddeus knows.

_Don't argue._

_He means what he says._

"Fine," I say. "I'll do it. With a few conditions."

Alanton cocks an eyebrow. "I don't think you are in a position to make demands."

I hold my head high, sounding more confident than I feel. "You can kill me, and you can kill my family, but what then? You'll have to wait a year for another victor. And what if next year's victor isn't ruthless enough for you?" I shift forward in my chair. "It's me you want, and you'll have me…_with a few conditions._"

Alanton nods. "Let's hear it, then."

My confidence diminishes. "I…I want Logan and his family protected too, and his future children."

Alanton nods. "Done."

"Our prep teams too," I say. "I want them safe."

Alanton sighs. "Very well. Anything else?"

I turn to Logan. He looks as nervous as I feel. What else should I ask for? How much more can I get? I sit silently for a few seconds.

"Alright then, if we're finished here…" Alanton rises from his chair. He flicks his wrist lightly, dismissing us.

My fury rises again. Alanton walks down the hallway to the elevator, his fancy shoes clicking on the floor. I seethe on the couch. I can't let him treat me this way. He threatened me. He threatened my family. And he's going to walk out of here like Logan and I are stray dogs on a street corner.

_No._

_No he's not._

I leap from the couch, startling Logan.

"Wha— Corenn! What are you doing?" He says.

I grab one of Logan's crutches and stalk toward the hallway. Alanton's two guards have their backs turned, watching Alanton as he waits for the elevator. I raise Logan's crutch over my shoulder and slam it down onto one guard's head. He crumples to the floor. The other guard whirls around and I embed my pointy-toed shoe in his crotch. He doubles over and falls to the ground, writhing. I bend down, pulling a pistol from the unconscious guard's holster. Alanton stands frozen, his back against the metal double-doors of the elevator. For the first time, his mouth doesn't wear a domineering smirk. His chin isn't high with arrogance. His eyes aren't alight with malice.

They're alight with fear.

"The guards below will be expecting me," he says, pressing closer to the wall at my approach. "They know what to do if I don't come back. Your family won't escape."

I hold the gun casually in my right hand, pretending I know how to use it. If I have a reputation for brutality, then I might as well use it to my advantage. I press my forearm against Alanton's throat, pushing with force. He gargles and hacks while I raise the gun to his head.

"I'll honor our agreement," I whisper, "For now." I push harder against his throat. "But one day, someone will find a way to beat you. And when that day comes," I press the gun to his temple, "It'll be me that pulls the trigger."

The elevator dings and slides open. I push Alanton inside; he still has his wits enough to stay on his feet. I turn to the guards who are slowly regaining their composure. Logan stands behind them, using the wall and his lone crutch to hold him up. His eyes are wide and his mouth gaping, but I can see the smile playing on his lips. I hand the gun to one of the guards as they help each other to the elevator. It closes behind me, and my hard exterior turns to mush.

I fall against the wall, breathing hard. Logan stumbles to me. He speaks, but his words aren't loud enough to hear over the buzzing in my ears.

I've just agreed to be an assassin. I will have to kill more people. It will be my _job_ to kill people, and to inspire fear. All of this is enough to make me crazy, but the worst part is—

I know I'll be good at it.

Alanton knew next year's victor wouldn't be good enough. He knew he wouldn't find another person in his lifetime that would fit the role he wants me to play. Because there isn't anyone else.

I was meant for this.

"Corenn?" Logan says. "Come back to me. It's okay now. Come on."

He leads me back to the couch, and I plop down heavily.

"What did I just do?" I say.

Logan grins. "I don't know, but it was pretty badass."

"He was actually scared of me," I say with a shaky half-smile.

"I bet he peed his pants," Logan says, and kisses my cheek.

We stay on the couch for a while, never discussing Alanton's ultimatum. Our families arrive later, disheveled and in a frenzy.

"They wouldn't let us come up here!" Lilah shrieks.

"We didn't know what happened!" Mom says.

"Them dad-blame guards treated us like a bunch of criminals!" Elias shouts.

Marda is too upset to speak, but her hair trembles with the ferocity of her outrage.

Logan and I look on in silence while the chaos continues. I spot a shy little face peeking behind my dad's legs.

"Come here, Kade," I say. "There's someone you need to meet."

Kade walks timidly to me, burying his face in my shoulder.

"Don't be shy," I say. "Logan's nice, remember?"

"I really am nice," Logan says. He tickles Kade's ribs, making him squeal with laughter.

Within minutes, Kade and Logan are talking about trucks, and I'm in charge of calming down the adults. They explain how they were kept in a guarded room for the duration of our meeting with Alanton. I want to be angry along with them, but I'm so relieved they're okay that I can't muster up any rage. I explain Alanton's proposition, and my acceptance of it. That quiets them down.

"Oh…honey," Mom says.

No one knows what to say. Honestly, there's nothing I want them to say. I just want to be left alone, to play with Kade and Logan, to pretend today never happened.

"Well, we did get a bit of good news before we got stuck in that room," Marda says.

"Yes! how could we forget?" Says Mom. "They're letting us take you home tomorrow!"

I stop short, gripping the arm of the couch. Lilah gives Logan a hug, interrupting his talk with Kade.

"Did you hear that?" She says. "Our plane leaves for Kentucky first thing in the morning."

I don't know why it's this statement that sends me over the edge. I've been through worse. Much worse. But tomorrow I will be separated from Logan. He will be gone forever. Our lives will start over, alone. He will go on, start a family, with no worries, thanks to the protection I bought him today. And what will I do? I will become a shadow. I will waste away without him by my side. Kade will be the only bright spot in a world of darkness.

And it's just too much.

Spots swim in my vision and I collapse.

* * *

When I open my eyes again, it's dark. A dim lamp shines in the corner of the room, but its pitiful light is blocked by the blonde man leaning over me. Logan lays on his side, one hand behind my head, the other smoothing my hair. I lay beside him, my skinny body barely making a heap under the covers. I want to speak, to tell Logan how much I don't want him to go, how much I _need_ him to stay with me. But my mouth is dry, and my head aches, and I don't know how to ask a person to give up their whole life for me. Logan smiles, caressing my cheek.

"Don't worry," he says, "I'm not going anywhere."


	45. Epilogue

The next morning, Logan flies home with me. As victors, we're allowed to choose a house to call our own, so we do. We pick a large house, but a simple one, with three bedrooms and a pool out back. We don't need anything special. Lilah can't be away from Logan for long, so she buys a house near us and moves down with Logan's dog, Rufus. Elias is ordered to continue my training, so he moves in right down the street. Marda visits often, and notices how little I eat, so she volunteers herself as a personal chef. James comes by every few days to primp me, making sure I keep up my beauty rituals. All-in-all, I can't complain about how things worked out.

But I can't be happy.

I can't go on.

Even with my family, friends, and Logan close by, there's a void inside. Logan understands. He feels it too. I have my own bedroom in the new house, but most nights I end up in Logan's. We sit for long hours, staring at the ceiling because it's better than reliving the Games when we close our eyes. I don't see Logan's playful smiles much anymore, and we don't talk a lot. It's as if our bond isn't enough to get us through the aftermath of the Games. It's a battle we have to fight on our own.

I call my mom to ask if I can have my old photo albums. The ones of me as a baby and as a teenager. The ones of my first vacation and my high school graduation. She happily obliges.

Logan walks in while I'm burning them in the fireplace.

At first he tries to stop me, but when he realizes what I'm doing, he helps. He looks wistfully at the child I was, at the hopeful young woman I became. But he knows she's gone.

About a month after our homecoming, I get my divorce papers in the mail. Thomas has already signed every page, and Logan holds my hand while I do the same.

Every day I expect the call that will be my orders to assassinate an enemy of Alanton's. I stare at my phone with dread every time it rings, but it's always mom checking in, or Marda asking if I've eaten. But I know someday the call will come. Alanton won't forget.

One night, after Kade is asleep, Logan and I sit in front of the fireplace, staring into the flames. This has become a nightly ritual for us, because we can't watch TV. There's always gossip about us or footage of the Games. So we sit, and we look at the fire. Earlier, I had gone to visit Charles's grave. I left him some daisies. Marda cooked us a delicious dinner. I even ate a few bites. The day wasn't anything special, and the evening feels the same as always. Logan takes my hand and squeezes. I look at him, and he smiles. It's the smile I remember. The smile that reminds me that he's still in there, the Logan that helped me through the Games. He's holding on. He's fighting his battle, and he's winning. I squeeze his hand and smile back. And that's when I know.

He'll get through this.

And so will I.

**THE END**

**A/N: I can't express how grateful I am that this story has been read and enjoyed. Writing it has been the start of a new adventure for me, and the kindness of you readers and reviewers has given me the confidence to continue. Obviously there's more to Corenn and Logan's story, and it's up there in my head, fully formed and nagging to be written. But for now I'm going to focus on some original fiction. I can't wait to return to Corenn's world, and I hope you folks are still around when I do. Come find me on Twitter if you want to stay in touch (the link's on my profile). Thank you, thank you, thank you. **


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